3   1822  01182  2640 


LIBRARY 

-'ERSIT/OF 
,'  ^UFORNIA 

SAN  DIEGO 


PS  315?  VK3585  034 


3" 1822  01182  2640 


• 


OFF  LYNNPORT  LIGHT 

A  NOVEL 


BY 

AUGUSTA  CAMPBELL  WATSON 

"^^ 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  OLD  HARBOR  TOWN," 
;;  DOROTHY  THE  PURITAN,"  ETC. 


NEW  YORK 

E.  P.  DUTTON  &  COMPANY 

3 1     WEST    TWENTY-THIRD    STREET 
1895 


Copyright,  1895, 
BY  E.  P.  BUTTON   &   COMPANY. 


Press  of  J.  J.  Little  &  Co. 
Astor  Place.  New  York 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER   I.  PAGE 

THE  OLD  MANOR-HOUSE i 

CHAPTER   II. 
VILLAGE  LIFE 18 

CHAPTER   III. 
JACK  HATHAWAY 35 

CHAPTER    IV. 
MRS.  LORRIMER'S  SUSPICIONS 53 

CHAPTER   V. 
THE  LOVERS 72 

CHAPTER   VI. 
DR.  GOODYEAR'S  OFFER  REJECTED 92 

CHAPTER   VII. 
THE  CAPTAIN  INTERVIEWS  MRS.  MUNN 112 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
RUTH  DEMANDS  AN  EXPLANATION 132 

CHAPTER   IX. 
THE  LETTERS  IN  THE  GARRET  CHEST 150 


iv  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER   X.  PAGE 

THE  PARTING  ..........................................    167 

CHAPTER   XI. 
RUTH  TAKES  UP  HER  CROSS  ...........................    186 

CHAPTER   XII. 
THE  MINISTER'S  WOOING  ...............................   203 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
THE  DEATH  OF  LITTLE  JOE  ................  .............   220 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
MRS.  LORRIMER'S  ILLNESS  ..............................   237 

CHAPTER   XV. 

DR.  GOODYEAR  TRIUMPHANT  ............................   254 

CHAPTER   XVI. 
LIFE  IN  THE  RECTORY  ..................................   271 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW  ............................  287 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
THE  DONATION  PARTY  .................................   304 

CHAPTER   XIX. 


THE  GREAT  STORM 


CHAPTER  XX. 


PEACE. 


336 


NOTE ,, . 

344 


OFF  LYNNPORT  LIGHT. 


CHAPTER   I. 

THE    OLD    MANOR-HOUSE. 

THE  century  grows  old,  bowed  to  earth  with  the 
accumulated  incidents  of  its  hundred  years:  One 
looks  backward  and  speculates  upon  the  events  and 
varied-colored  life  that  ushered  in  its  infancy.  The 
contemplation  of  that  far-off  time  of  courtly  dame, 
of  gay  gallant,  opens  the  portals  of  long  silent  and 
forgotten  places.  The  shadowy  host,  asleep  these 
many  years,  rise  and  pass  before  our  watching  eyes. 
We  hear  the  rustle  of  silks  and  laces  and  the  clank 
of  swords.  We  see  figures  bow  in  the  slow  rhythm 
of  the  stately  minuet  to  the  plaintive  chords  of  the 
spinet.  We  smell  the  perfume  of  sandalwood  and 
musk  rising  heavily  upon  the  atmosphere. 

Have  we  slept  through  the  passing  years  ?  Has 
the  busy  strife  and  toil  of  the  century  been  a  dream, 


2  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

a  fading  picture?  Are  these  long-dead  spirits  the 
reality,  the  present  a  dream? 

It  seems  as  if  it  must  be  so.  Rising  slowly  from 
the  misty,  intangible  vapors  of  time,  we  evolve  a 
stately  colonial  home,  and  the  tall,  slim  figure  of  our 
heroine,  Ruth  Lorrimer,  leaning  in  the  doorway. 
She  is  clad  in  the  scant  skirts  of  a  decade  ago ;  her 
hair  is  piled  high  upon  her  shapely  head,  around  a 
towering  comb  ;  the  lace  mitts  are  drawn  high  upon 
her  white  arms,  a  silken  bag  hangs  by  her  side,  and 
the  small  feet  are  incased  in  slippers  with  the  laces 
crossing  and  recrossing  above  the  high-arched  in 
step.  The  girlish  figure  is  leaning  listlessly  against 
the  doorway,  and  in  one  hand  she  holds  a  letter. 
Her  blue  eyes  are  looking  across  the  smooth-shaven 
lawn  to  the  sea,  which  is  shining  like  a  field  of  pol 
ished  diamonds  beneath  the  brilliant  rays  of  the 
warm  June  sun. 

Ruth  Lorrimer  was  very  fair,  sweet,  and  young, 
her  face  dimpled,  and  arch  in  expression.  A  cer 
tain  dignity  pervaded  her  presence — a  legacy  from 
a  long  line  of  gentle  ancestors,  whose  rather  forbid 
ding  likenesses  frown  from  the  walls  in  the  long, 
high-domed  drawing-room  of  her  home. 

She  stood  looking  dreamily  over  the  grounds,  an 


THE   OLD    MANOR-HOUSE.  3 

unfathomable  glow  in  her  soft  eyes,  appearing  in 
her  youthful  grace  the  finishing  touch  to  the  setting 
of  the  picture — the  life  in  the  canvas. 

For  this  fine  old  country-seat  was  a  picture,  with 
its  stately  columns,  its  great  wide  hall,  its  oaken 
staircase  that  the  villagers  boasted  was  wide  enough 
for  a  coach"  and  four  to  ascend  and  not  touch  the 
paneled  walls,  its  high-vaulted  bedchambers,  and 
its  wide-mouthed  fireplaces  surrounded  by  scriptural 
tiles.  This  imposing  mansion,  shaded  by  towering 
elms,  was  the  show-place  of  the  little  New  England 
sea- coast  village  of  Lynnport. 

The  Lorrimers  were  the  great  people,  the  fine 
family,  the  aristocracy.  Had  not  old  Gerald  Weston, 
the  first  denizen  of  the  mansion,  emigrated  with  the 
early  settlers,  fleeing  from  an  enraged  sovereign  for 
free  speech  against  the  tyranny  of  those  in  high 
places?  Had  he  not  built  himself  a  fine  abode 
in  the  colonies?  And  in  time  from  across  the 
sea  came  various  articles  to  embellish  the  great 
house.  Carved  chairs,  settles,  rugs,  and  silverware, 
great  canopied  bedsteads,  a  chaise  for  postilions  at 
the  rear,  costly  articles  of  apparel  in  silk,  velvet,  and 
embroidery.  On  the  mantel  in  the  state  drawing- 
room  stood  solid  silver  candelabra,  so  heavy  they 


4  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

were  seldom  moved  except  when  necessary  to  clean 
them. 

Ruth,  however,  was  not  thinking  of  this  as  she 
leaned  against  the  open  doorway.  Contact  with 
luxury  had  made  her  familiar  all  her  life  with  the 
accessories  of  her  position  ;  she  accepted  everything 
without  speculation  as  to  the  possibility  of  having 
been  the  particularly  favored  one  of  fortune.  It 
was  very  still  about  the  house.  It  was  early  in  the 
summer  afternoon,  and  the  sun  was  shining  with  a 
steady  brilliancy.  The  old  manor  stood  on  the  out 
skirts  of  a  tiny  fishing- village,  and  the  hoarse  shouts 
of  fishermen  came  faintly  and  at  intervals  to  the 
ears  of  the  dreaming  girl.  A  happy  smile  played 
about  her  red  lips,  bringing  into  relief  two  coquet 
tish  dimples.  She  took  up  the  letter  again  and 
gazed  long  and  lovingly  at  the  clear,  bold  hand 
writing. 

"Jack,"  Ruth  whispered,  softly,  "Jack."  She 
drew  the  letter  across  her  lips  and  kissed  it;  then 
with  a  blush  hid  it  in  the  bosom  of  her  short- waisted 
gown. 

"  Ruth,  Ruth,  child,  what  are  you  doing — idling, 
idling,  as  usual?" 

The  voice  of  some  new-comer  rang  out  short,  crisp, 


THE    OLD    MANOR-HOUSE.  5 

staccato-like  in  tones,  each  word  rising  louder  and 
shriller. 

Ruth  composed  her  laughing  face  into  a  resigned 
expression  and  turned  her  head  impatiently. 

Click,  click  came  a  pair  of  high  heels,  and  a  tall 
figure  stepped  with  quick,  nervous  tread  over  the 
polished  surface  of  the  hall  and  stood  by  the  girl's 
side  in  the  doorway.  At  first  glance  the  woman 
who  approached  seemed  almost  gigantic  in  stature ; 
in  reality,  though  nature  had  endowed  her  with  great 
height,  fully  a  foot  had  been  added  by  a  tremendous 
head-dress  that  rose  in  almost  appalling  prominence 
above  a  thin,  long- featured  face — a  face  full  of  ner 
vous  activity  and  erratic  power.  Her  dress  was 
made  in  the  conventional  mode  of  that  time,  and 
the  material  displayed  a  large  flowered  pattern  of 
unusual  design,  in  accordance  with  a  peculiar  taste 
of  her  own. 

"  Ruth,  you  are  a  lazy  girl,"  she  said,  shaking  her 
long  forefinger.  "  Ah  me !  at  your  age  I  was  all  fire 
and  life ;  dreaming  was  not  known  in  my  young 
days."  She  paused  and  looked  suspiciously  toward 
her  companion,  who  stood  eying  her  with  a  laugh 
in  her  blue  eyes. 

"  What  did  you  hide  in  your  dress  as  I  came  up  ? 


6  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

I  saw  you  from  the  staircase ;  there  is  no  use  try 
ing  to  hide  anything  from  Aunt  Jane.  Come  now, 
child,  confess." 

"  Suppose  I  should  tell  you  it  was  a  love-letter?  " 
said  Ruth. 

"  Love-letter,  indeed!  What  foolishness  is  this? 
Let  me  tell  you,  Ruth  Lorrimer,  if  you  are  senseless 
enough  to  believe  in  love  and  love-letters  you  are 
even  more  of  an  addle-pate  than  I  thought.  You 
will  find  out  what  a  man's  constancy  amounts  to  soon 
enough — not  that!  "  She  snapped  her  fingers,  and 
shook  her  head  till  the  towering  head-dress  reeled 
like  a  ^hip  at  sea. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  profit  by  another's  experience, 
Aunt  Jane,"  said  Ruth,  sharply.  "  I  want  my  own. 
You  are  hard  and  cold.  Why  should  I  not  be  like 
other  girls,  and  have  a  lover?  It  is  always  the  same 
old  story — no  man  is  true  and  constant;  every 
woman  is  deceived." 

"  They  are  all  alike,  child,  all  alike.  It  isn't  their 
own  goodness,  honesty,  and  faithfulness  that  lead 
them  in  the  eyes  of  the  world  at  times  in  the  right 
direction;  it's  because  some  women  are  too  sharp 
for  them."  She  glanced  triumphantly  at  her  niece 
as  she  concluded:  "Too  sharp,  thank  Heaven!  " 


THE    OLD    MANOR-HOUSE.  7 

Ruth  had  not  heard  her.  She  turned  away,  with 
her  hand  over  her  heart,  close  to  where  the  letter 
lay.  She  knew  of  one  who  was  true  and  faithful, 
if  all  the  rest  of  the  world  were  false. 

Ruth  Lorrimer  was  an  orphan  almost  from  infancy, 
her  young  mother  having  died  after  a  short  married 
life.  Her  father,  surviving  but  a  few  years  his  great 
and  overwhelming  sorrow,  had  bequeathed  his  little 
daughter  to  his  mother  and  her  sister,  his  Aunt  Jane. 
So  the  child  came  to  dwell  in  the  old  homestead,  to 
be  its  light  and  life ;  to  fill  the  lonely  hearts  of  the 
aging  women  ;  to  make  the  great  rooms  reecho  with 
childish  glee ;  and  to  grow  into  womanhood,  a  sweet- 
faced,  fair-haired  girl,  laughter-loving  and  buoyant 
with  health — the  health  given  by  a  free,  active,  coun 
try  life.  Her  soft  cheek  was  fanned  by  breezes  from 
the  sea,  till  she  seemed  imbued  with  the  same  rest 
less  life  that  surged  and  swelled  in  hurrying  waves 
along  the  shore. 

The  little  town  of  Lynnport  lay  upon  a  steep  hill 
side,  its  few  grass-grown  streets  straggling  in  most 
erratic  fashion  up  the  stony  ascent,  till,  finally  reach 
ing  the  summit,  they  converged  into  the  highway. 
This  upper  road  ran  toward  the  north  and  was  the 
thoroughfare  upon  which  the  stage-coach,  the  lum- 


8  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

bering  vehicle  of  the  early  part  of  the  century,  rat 
tled  by — the  link  that  kept  the  scattered  towns  in 
contact  with  one  another. 

On  this  highway  above  the  town  was  situated  an 
old  inn,  a  long,  rambling  building,  with  outside  chim 
neys  of  pressed  yellow  brick  imported  from  England, 
and  from  which  the  cheerful  smoke  was  often  seen, 
giving  evidence  of  the  good  things  being  prepared 
below  in  the  open-mouthed  cavern  of  the  huge  fire 
place.  The  town  was  inhabited  principally  by  a 
hardy,  roistering  company  of  seafaring  men,  whose 
brawny  arms,  weather-beaten  faces,  and  stentorian 
voices  proclaimed  them  toilers  of  the  sea ;  men  whose 
constant  contact  with  danger  made  them  fearless, 
and  yet  whose  nearness  to  the  presence  of  the  great 
God  of  storms  gave  them  the  simple  faith  of  a  child. 
Sailing-vessels  went  forth  yearly  from  Lynnport  in 
those  old  days;  but  they  were  few  in  number,  the 
generality  of  the  fishermen  going  on  short  cruises 
for  cod,  herring,  or  mackerel,  the  fish  thus  caught 
being  sent  by  sea  to  distant  cities  on  the  coast  and 
thence  inland. 

On  a  narrow  street  facing  the  water  were  congre 
gated  grog-houses  for  the  sailors,  adjoining  the  junk- 
shops,  whose  strangely  assorted  articles  lay  in  heaps 


THE    OLD    MANOR-HOUSE.  9 

on  the  dusty  shelves  and  still  more  dusty  floor.  In 
the  warm  grog-shops  the  men  congregated  on  cold 
winter  nights,  and  talked,  as  they  hobnobbed  over 
their  steaming  toddy,  of  their  latest  haul  of  fish  or 
the  last  bit  of  gossip  in  the  town.  They  shook 
their  heads  solemnly  as  the  shrill  wind  whistled  and 
rattled  at  the  wooden  shutters,  dying  with  a  moan 
along  the  narrow  street,  and  wondered  whether  the 
last  crew  out  had  rounded  the  cape. 

If  not — they  would  look  into  the  blazing  fire, 
take  up  their  pipes  again,  and  smoke  without  a 
word.  Doubtless  they  saw  in  the  rising  smoke 
cruel  rocks  of  the  dangerous  hidden  reefs  off  the 
cape,  their  ragged  edges,  like  sharks'  teeth,  gleam 
ing  beneath  the  shallow  waters. 

"  It's  a  hard  life,  mates,"  sometimes  an  old  sailor 
would  volunteer;  "  it's  a  hard  life." 

No  one  would  answer.  They  only  smoked  the 
faster  and  listened  to  the  snapping  of  the  fierce 
winter's  gale ;  till  the  landlord,  worthy  Peter  Simp 
son,  would  look  in  curiously,  then  quietly  retire  to 
confide  to  his  wife  that  "  the  men  were  a-thinkin'  o' 
the  sea,  and  you  couldn't  get  a  word  out  o'  them. 
There  they  sit  like  so  many  owls,  a-blinkin'  and 
a-lookin'  into  the  fire.  None  o'  your  seafarin'  life 


I0  OFF   EYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

for  me,  wife ;  it  never  did  come  nat'ral  to  me.  I  tell 
you  it's  a  hard  row."  To  which  platitudes  his  wife 
would  sniff  contemptuously  and  snap  out  sharply, 
"You  ain't  no  great  one  anyhow,  Peter  Simpson. 
I'm  a  sailor's  daughter,  and  you  know  I'm  the  only 
one  of  the  eight  girls  that  has  married  a  landlub 
ber."  Then  she  would  go  in  and  replenish  the  men's 
glasses,  stir  up  the  fire,  and  volunteer  the  informa 
tion  that  she  "thought  the  wind  was  a-changin',  and 
would  blow  the  crew  out  to  sea  and  off  the  cape." 
The  men  would  glance  dubiously  toward  her,  get 
up  and  put  their  chairs  against  the  wall,  draw  their 
woolen  mufflers  around  their  throats,  and  go  out  into 
the  night.  Mrs.  Simpson  would  pause  a  moment 
after  closing  the  door  upon  them,  and  look  into  the 
fire. 

"Heaven  help  'em!  it's  a  hard  life,"  she  would 
sigh. 

Lynnportwas  a  typical  New  England  fishing-town. 
Salt  breezes  blew  through  its  crooked  streets,  and 
on  every  side  the  smell  of  fish  and  seaweed  assailed 
the  nostrils.  Whaling- vessels  started  yearly  for  long 
cruises  to  the  north,  and  at  all  times  the  harbor  was 
filled  with  the  boats  of  the  fishing-fleet,  rolling  and 
pitching  restlessly.  Ah!  but  those  were  sad  days 


THE   OLD    MANOR-HOUSE.  I  I 

when  the  stately  whalers  started  on  their  three  years' 
cruise — sad  for  the  "sweethearts  and  wives"  :  three 
years — a  long  enough  time  for  the  great  events  of 
a  life  to  occur.  Many  a  tear-dimmed  eye  watched 
the  white  sails  of  the  fleet  till  lost  to  sight  over  the 
bar. 

Once  in  a  while  a  stately  vessel  would  come  into 
harbor  from  the  Indies  and  China,  loaded  with  spices, 
fruits,  and  East  India  sweets.  She  would  discharge 
a  small  cargo,  then  go  to  Boston ;  and  the  Captain, 
with  a  jolly  laugh,  would  shake  hands  with  the  men 
on  the  wharf,  for  he  was  a  prime  favorite  through 
out  Lynnport. 

The  Lorrimer  place  stood  upon  quite  an  elevation, 
and  its  grounds  sloped  to  the  shore.  At  the  back  of 
the  house  lay  fine  farming  lands,  and  a  quaint  gar 
den  sheltered  from  the  high  winds  by  Norway  pines 
and  the  spreading  branches  of  the  spruce,  through 
whose  dark  boughs  the  breezes  murmured  and  sang, 
in  a  minor  tone,  to  the  great  song  of  the  ocean 
beyond. 

It  was  a  beautiful  old  garden,  a  blaze  of  glorious 
color  in  the  summer-time,  with  the  gorgeous  tints  of 
roses,  Dianthus,  four-o'clocks,  peonies,  and  the  tall 
spiral  cones  of  foxglove  and  larkspur  rising  sentinel- 


12  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

like,  at  stated  intervals,  in  the  richly  hued  beds.  The 
garden  had  entrance-gates  of  rough-hewn  cedar- 
boughs,  over  which  trailed  climbing  vines.  There 
were  also  benches  beneath  the  fruit-trees  which  filled 
part  of  the  inclosure.  Near  the  sun-dial  stood  a 
small  summer-house  of  cedar.  In  the  center  of  the 
garden,  on  a  level  piece  of  grassy  sward,  was  the 
well  and  well-sweep,  its  long,  swinging  arm  holding 
the  bucket  tied  by  a  chain.  Along  the  curb  of  the 
well,  fostered  into  life  by  the  constant  dripping 
moisture,  sprang  tiny,  dainty  ferns,  lichens,  and 
moss.  Through  openings  in  the  trees  one  caught 
glimpses,  toward  the  north,  of  the  fishing-village,  not 
a  mile  away,  huddled  up  against  its  protecting  hill 
side  ;  to  the  south,  a  grand  wide  view  of  old  ocean ; 
and  far  away,  like  a  gray  streak  against  the  sky, 
an  outline  of  the  dangerous  cape.  This  sequestered 
spot  was  the  favorite  place  for  old  Mrs.  Lorrimer  to 
take  her  exercise. 

There  in  the  early  morning  and  toward  evening 
the  stately  figure  might  be  seen  walking  sedately  up 
and  down  the  box-bordered  path.  Her  thin,  blue- 
veined  hands  were  covered  by  long  lace  mitts,  and 
her  soft  silk  skirts  made  no  rustle  as  she  walked. 
Old  Mrs.  Lorrimer  was  indeed  a  grand  dame,  gen- 


THE   OLD    MANOR-HOUSE.  13 

tie,  courtly,  dignified,  her  high-bred,  patrician  face, 
surrounded  by  its  halo  of  snow-white  hair,  impress 
ing  one  instantly  with  the  value  of  gentle  ancestry. 
Not  that  she  informed  strangers  that  she  was  a 
Lorrimer — one  of  the  Lorrimers  of  Lynnport — and 
a  daughter  of  General  Weston;  but  she  lived  her 
position.  Upon  a  mimic  stage,  all  unconscious  to 
herself,  she  posed,  the  reigning  star.  Perhaps — who 
can  tell  ? — this  superiority  of  thought,  long  continued, 
became  second  nature,  and  far  down  in  the  recesses 
of  the  sweet,  placid  old  lady's  being  the  inevitable 
social  barrier  had  been  raised  a  notch  higher,  and 
she  felt  herself  better  than  her  fellows.  Thus  we 
meet  her  for  the  first  time  in  her  beloved  garden 
this  pleasant  June  evening.  Ruth  was  by  her  side, 
and  they  were  walking  silently  along  the  paths, 
Mrs.  Lorrimer  holding  some  flowers  in  her  hand, 
and  the  fast-decreasing  sunlight  falling  across  her 
face.  Jane  was  seated  in  the  summer-house  by 
the  sun-dial,  holding  on  her  lap  a  fat,  pampered 
spaniel,  who  was  condescendingly  nibbling  at  a  bit 
of  cake  she  was  offering  him.  In  Ruth's  hand  was 
the  letter,  which  she  had  crumpled  and  crushed  be 
tween  her  small  fingers. 

"Grandmother,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "I  have 


14  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

wanted  to  speak  to  you  all  day.  I — I — have  a  let 
ter.  Old  John  Halleck  brought  it  from  the  wharf 
this  morning.  His — his — ship  has  come  in  from  the 
Indies.  They  have  discharged  the  Lynnport  cargo, 
and — and — now  he  is  going  to  Boston.  He  will  be 
back  in  three  or  four  days." 

This  had  been  told  in  rather  a  hurried  and  im 
petuous  fashion.  Ruth's  eyes  were  lowered — she 
was  scraping  her  feet  along  the  graveled  roadway — 
and  her  cheeks  were  flushed.  Mrs.  Lorrimer  turned 
swiftly  in  the  path  and  faced  her  granddaughter. 

"What  letter,  child  ?  "  she  said.  "  I  do  not  under 
stand  you.  Whose  ship?" 

"  Why,  grandmother ' ' — the  girl's  blue  eyes  opened 
widely — "  I  thought  you  knew.  Why,  Captain  Jack 
Hathaway 's  ship,  of  course." 

In  speaking  his  name  Ruth  blushed  again  and 
glanced  downward. 

Mrs.  Lorrimer  did  not  reply  immediately,  but 
shivered  and  drew  her  fine  lace  shawl  about  her 
shoulders.  Then,  placing  a  hand  against  her  side,  she 
gave  a  little  cry  and  stepped  backward  in  the  path. 

The  cry  brought  Jane  flying  from  the  summer- 
house,  much  to  the  consternation  of  the  fat  spaniel, 
who  was  deposited  rather  unceremoniously  upon 


THE    OLD    MANOR-HOUSE.  15 

his  back  on  the  floor,  where  he  remained  in  mute 
protest  and  indignation,  with  his  legs  in  the  air. 

Jane  hastened  to  her  sister,  and  putting  her  arms 
around  her  drew  her  head  upon  her  shoulder,  scowl 
ing  fiercely  in  the  meanwhile  at  her  niece. 

"  What  is  it,  dearie?  "  she  said,  tenderly. 

"  Oh,  nothing,  Jane,  nothing.  I  am  getting  old. 
Perhaps  I  am  weaker  than  I  thought.  It  is  noth 
ing,  I  say.  Go  back  to  Tetsy.  Just  see  the  poor 
dear;  he  is  on  his  back  yet." 

"Tetsy  can  take  care  of  himself,"  said  Jane,  "and 
turn  himself  over  when  he  gets  ready.  I  insist  upon 
knowing  what  Ruth  has  said  to  you." 

The  high  head-dress  trembled  ominously,  and  the 
angular  shoulders  twitched  angrily. 

"  I  only  said  Jack  Hathaway's  ship  was  back 
from  the  Indies,  and  he  was  coming  here  to  see  us 
in  a  few  days,"  Ruth  volunteered,  timidly. 

Jane  Weston  pushed  her  sister  from  her.  "  Well, 
I  must  say,  Mary  Lorrimer,  you  are  a  weak  woman. 
If  I  had  known  that  was  all  I  wouldn't  have  left 
Tetsy  and  nearly  broken  his  back  in  the  bargain. 
For  goodness'  sake,  if  he  isn't  on  his  back  yet! 
Just  like  his  intelligence :  he  knows  that  if  he  waits 
long  enough  I'll  carry  him." 


1 6  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

Jane  Weston  walked  away  impatiently,  and  Mrs. 
Lorrimer  put  a  little  lace  handkerchief  to  her  eyes, 
taken  from  the  embroidered  bag  at  her  side,  and 
shed  a  few  tears. 

"  Oh,  tell  me,  tell  me,  grandmother,  have  I 
offended  you?  I  would  not  for  anything.  You 
know  that  I  would  not." 

"  No,  no,  child ;  forget  it.  I  was  thinking  of  other 
days — that  is  all.  I  think  it  must  have  been  the  odor 
of  these  roses  that  made  me  feel  faint.  I  remem 
ber  so  well  when  I  was  a  little  girl  and  father  first 
planted  them  in  the  garden.  A  little  girl!  What 
am  I  saying?"  She  paused  and  her  lips  trembled. 
"  I  was  quite  as  old  as  you  are,  and  you  are  eighteen, 
my  pet.  Ah  yes !  that  was  what  I  was  thinking  of 
— when  I  was  eighteen,  like  you  ;  and — and — there 
was  some  one  else  I  was  thinking  of — some  one —  " 
here  the  old  lady  placed  her  handkerchief  again  to 
her  eyes.  "  Ruth,  child,"  she  concluded,  earnestly, 
after  a  pause,  "  I  do  not  care  for  this  sea-captain. 
Why  does  he  wish  to  come  to  the  manor?  " 

Ruth  did  not  speak,  but  drew  aside  from  her 
grandmother  and  turned  her  face  away.  At  that  in 
stant  they  were  joined  rather  impetuously  by  Jane 
and  the  now  complacent  Tetsy,  who  lay  in  her  arms. 


THE    OLD    MANOR-HOUSE.  IJ 

"Come,  come,  Mary,"  she  said,  hurriedly,  "let 
us  go  indoors.  The  dampness  is  falling;  I  shall  be 
stiff  with  the  rheumatism.  A  garden  at  night  is  all 
very  well  for  moonstruck  lovers,  but  not  for  sensible 
folks.  Tetsy  has  been  coughing  for  the  last  fifteen 
minutes." 

Mrs.  Lorrimer  turned  to  her  sister  eagerly.  "  This 
— this  sea-captain,"  she  said;  "tell  Ruth  we  do  not 
know  him.  She  is  too  young  for  suitors.  Speak 
to  her,  Jane." 

"  Who  spoke  of  suitors,  Mary?  Here  is  a  young 
man  in  port  for  a  few  days,  who  is  calling  upon 
some  old  friends;  at  least  Ruth,  if  not  exactly  a 
friend,  has  met  him.  Then  he  sails  away  for  three 
years.  Have  you  no  discernment,  sister?"  Her 
sharp  voice  rang  out  angrily  as  she  opened  the  gar 
den  gate  with  a  loud  click  of  the  latch.  "  I  see  no 
use  of  discussing  this  matter  further,"  she  concluded, 
testily.  "  Let  us  go  to  the  house." 


CHAPTER   II. 

VILLAGE    LIFE. 

ONE  would  imagine,  in  a  small,  remote  New 
England  town  more  than  half  a  century  ago,  that 
the  social  barriers  which  were  built  so  readily  and 
quickly  in  places  of  size  and  importance  would  have 
been  of  very  flimsy  texture,  if  existing  at  all.  Such, 
however,  was  not  the  case  at  Lynnport.  No  promi 
nent  center  ever  prided  itself  more  upon  its  great 
families,  its  claim  for  social  distinction,  than  did 
those  simple  folks  of  that  tiny  town — defining  the 
gradations  with  jealous  care,  placing  all  interlopers 
outside  the  sacred  borders.  Had  they  not  the  Lor- 
rimers,  the  Hinsdales,  and  the  Burtons,  who  had 
descended  from  gentle  stock?  What  was  the  out 
side  world  to  those  worthy  people  ?  Had  they  not 
a  world  of  their  own?  In  their  eyes  did  they  not 
hold  a  miniature  court  of  stately  elegance  and  de 
corum  in  the  Lynnport  tea-parties,  the  gatherings 

18 


VILLAGE    LIFE.  1 9 

at  the  rectory,  and  in  their  stately  visits  at  stated 
times  upon  one  another?  Had  not  one  of  their 
number  written  learned  books,  another  held  a  high 
position  under  the  government?  Did  not  the  whole 
village  thrill  with  honest  pride  when  this  latter  per 
sonage  left  for  his  seat  of  office?  Ah!  Lynnport 
was  the  place  in  which  to  live,  the  residents  would 
aver,  with  a  proud  shake  of  the  head — Lynnport 
was  the  place. 

After  all,  is  not  that  placid  contentment  with  one's 
lot  the  better  part?  If  one's  horizon  is  narrow  it 
no  doubt  hedges  in  happiness  and  hides  the  darker 
possibilities  of  a  wider  sphere. 

On  one  of  the  straggling  streets  stood  a  number 
of  fine  old  houses — great  square  mansions  with  im 
posing  fronts,  painted  white,  with  small-paned  win 
dows  and  gambreled  roofs.  In  a  few  the  narrow 
dormer  reared  its  protruding  head  as  though  the 
better  to  gaze  over  the  fishermen's  homes  at  the 
foot  of  the  hill  to  the  sea  beyond.  These  houses 
stood  not  far  back  from  the  street,  and  before  them, 
in  almost  all  cases,  tall,  ungraceful  poplar-trees  threw 
their  slanting  shadows.  In  the  small  gardens  be 
tween  the  houses  and  the  street  lilac-bushes  flour 
ished,  also  hardy  roses  and  shrubs.  In  front  of  the 


20  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

large  mansions  small,  contracted  porches  loomed 
under  low,  flat  roofs,  and  on  the  heavy  doors  bright 
knockers,  polished  to  the  highest  degree,  glistened 
and  sparkled.  The  daily  cleaning  of  these  knockers 
was  the  cause  of  some  envy  among  the  housekeepers 
of  Lynnport,  and  was  often  the  subject  of  much  dis 
cussion  at  the  high  teas :  whether  soap,  Bath  brick, 
or  grease  was  the  best  cleanser,  all  generally  decid 
ing  with  serious  aspect  that  "just  good  hard  rubbing 
is  better  than  those  newfangled  things  they  are  using 
nowadays." 

The  Lynnporters  felt  a  deep  pity  for  the  poor 
people  who  could  not  live  in  their  town,  where  the 
advantages  were  so  great ;  feeling  sympathy  for  the 
whole  world  outside  its  wonderful  borders.  Indeed, 
there  is  no  manner  of  doubt  that  they  fully  appre 
ciated  their  blessings  and  privileges,  and  did  full 
justice  to  the  same,  not  concealing  at  times,  to  a 
casual  stranger,  pride  in  the  knowledge  of  possessing 
a  superior  position  in  the  world. 

One  of  the  great  amusements  during  the  long 
winter  evenings  was  whist;  not  the  giggling,  care 
lessly  played  whist  of  the  young  people  of  to-day, 
but  a  long,  hotly  contested,  serious  game,  which 
made  them  unconscious  of  the  surf  booming  on  the 


VILLAGE    LIFE.     •  21 

beach,  the  rattling  of  the  casements,  or  the  loud 
ticking  of  the  clock  on  the  stairway.  On  they 
played,  their  faces  close  together,  the  blended  light 
of  candle  and  fire  casting  a  glow  upon  their  earnest 
countenances.  Sometimes  the  fire  would  burn  low, 
little  drafts  would  circle  and  eddy  along  the  pol 
ished  floor,  and  the  candle  would  glimmer  close  to 
its  socket,  casting  weird  and  grotesque  shadows  upon 
the  high  ceiling.  Still  they  played,  with  knitted 
brows  and  pursed-up  lips,  till  suddenly  the  clock 
called  out  nine  strokes. 

"  God  bless  us,  nine  o'clock!"  Dr.  Goodyear,  the 
most  inveterate  whist-player  in  Lynnport,  would 
boom  out  in  his  deep  bass  voice.  "  Nine  o'clock — 
time  all  good  Christians  were  in  bed.  The  toddy, 
Mistress  Hinsdale,  and  then  good-night.  Not  too 
stiff,  my  dear  madam ;  not  too  stiff,  mind.  I  was 
scandalized  to  see  the  next  morning,  in  the  snow, 
the  most  erratic  steps  I  had  made  the  night  before, 
after  your  last  whist-party,  Mistress  Hinsdale." 

It  was  a  day  or  so  after  Ruth  had  received  her 
letter  from  the  gallant  Captain  that  she,  Aunt  Jane, 
Mrs.  Lorrimer,  and  Tetsy  were  bidden  to  a  high  tea 
at  Mrs.  Matthew  Burton's.  Tetsy  was  not  desired 
by  any  means ;  in  fact,  to  almost  all  Lynnport  he  was 


22  OFF    LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

considered  an  ill-conditioned,  badly  brought-up  lit 
tle  animal ;  but  to  offend  Tetsy  was  to  offend  Aunt 
Jane.  So  on  the  afternoon  of  the  day  appointed,  in 
best  apparel,  the  four  wended  their  way  along  the 
lovely  country  road  toward  the  town ;  for  Tetsy  was 
in  fine  attire  also,  a  linen  blanket  edged  with  narrow 
lace  resting  upon  his  plump  back. 

Ruth  Lorrimer  was  a  vision  of  sweetness  and 
coolness  in  her  quaint  gown  of  blue  India  silk, 
broad  lace  collar  upon  her  bare  neck,  mitts  drawn 
up  to  her  elbows,  and  a  large,  flapping  straw  hat 
tied  under  her  chin  in  a  great  blue  bow.  Her 
flower-like  face  looked  out  from  these  blue  sur 
roundings  like  a  rosy  cloud  in  the  sky  at  sunset. 

Mrs.  Lorrimer  walked  slowly,  her  delicate  white 
hand  resting  on  her  granddaughter's  arm.  She  was 
never  loquacious,  and  this  afternoon  did  not  speak 
a  word ;  only  listened  to  Ruth's  prattle  as  she  talked 
rapidly. 

.  For  some  undefined  reason  Ruth  did  not  speak  of 
Captain  Hathaway.  Perhaps  it  was  on  account  of 
some  feeling  of  distrust  evinced  in  Mrs.  Lorrimer's 
manner  when  she  spoke  of  him — an  added  coldness, 
a  scarcely  perceptible  repugnance  to  the  sound  of 
his  name.  Ruth  kept  her  thoughts  and  her  dreams 


VILLAGE    LIFE.  23 

to  herself,  brooding  over  them  with  tender  yet  wist 
ful  retrospection. 

Old  Mrs.  Lorrimer  loved  her  granddaughter.  Her 
affection  was  deep  and  sincere;  and  what  she  most 
desired  was  Ruth's  happiness.  Ever  since  the  death 
of  her  only  son,  who  left  his  daughter  to  her  care, 
Mrs.  Lorrimer  had  endeavored  to  do  her  duty,  that 
duty  impelled  by  unchanging  affection.  She  gazed 
with  gentle,  faded  eyes  upon  the  sweet  face  by  her 
side,  thinking  that  never  had  there  been  so  fair  and 
winsome  a  girl  as  Ruth. 

Ruth's  laughing  voice  was  often  interrupted  by 
exclamations  from  Jane,  who  stalked  in  the  rear, 
stern  and  majestic  in  carriage,  the  fat  Tetsy  wad 
dling  by  her  side ;  exclamations  against  tea-parties, 
dusty  roads,  and  briers,  with  little  yelps  of  despair 
from  Tetsy  interspersing  her  remarks,  as  he  stepped 
on  some  thorny  vine  that  protruded  into  the  road, 
or  in  his  curiosity  sniffed  some  flower  wherein  lay 
concealed  a  hungry  honey-bee. 

"Jane,  you  should  leave  Tetsy  at  home,"  said 
Mrs.  Lorrimer;  "he  is  troublesome." 

"  Humph ! "  sniffed  Jane,  twitching  her  scant  skirts 
angrily  at  this  implied  disapprobation  of  her  pet. 
"  Where  I  go  Tetsy  goes.  If  they  don't  want  Tetsy 


24  OFF    LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

they  don't  want  me."  Not  another  word  did  she 
speak  till  the  ladies  reached  the  narrow  street  that 
ran  along  the  water-side,  and  on  which  stood  the 
principal  shops  of  the  town,  when  she  declared  with 
dignity  that  as  Tetsy's  feet  were  dusty  she  would 
go  into  Mrs.  Simpson's  side  door  and  have  her 
brush  them,  and  then  would  carry  him  the  rest  of 
the  distance.  Mrs.  Lorrimer  sighed  patiently,  and 
Ruth  laughed.  At  that  instant  the  three  ladies 
were  startled  at  hearing  a  loud  sonorous  voice  hail 
ing  them  from  the  opposite  side  of  the  street. 

"  Good  afternoon,  ladies,  good  afternoon ;  hearty 
health  to  you.  My  respects,  Mrs.  Lorrimer.  How 
fares  it,  little  Ruth?  Miss  Jane,  your  servant;  and 
how  is  my  adored  Tetsy  ?  " 

These  words  were  spoken  in  loud,  trumpet-like 
tones,  and  Dr.  Goodyear  came  rushing  across  the 
road  toward  the  ladies. 

"  Good  afternoon,  Dr.  Goodyear,"  said  Mrs.  Lor 
rimer,  with  a  little  old-fashioned  courtesy.  Jane 
gave  him  a  stiff,  chilling  bow. 

Dr.  Goodyear  was  a  short,  stout  man,  with  a  red 
face,  shrewd,  twinkling  eyes,  and  bushy  gray  beard. 
He  was  the  village  doctor,  a  large- hearted,  liberal 
man,  perhaps  a  little  erratic  in  some  ways.  The 


VILLAGE    LIFE.  25 

ladies  thought  this  was  because  he  was  a  bachelor 
and  neglected.  There  was  a  funny  unreadable  twin 
kle  in  the  doctor's  eyes  as  he  looked  at  Jane's  for 
bidding  countenance,  which  instantly  changed  to  one 
of  deepest  concern  as  he  caught  her  watching  him. 

"  Has  Tetsy  been  ill,  Miss  Jane?  " 

"  No,  he  is  quite  well.  But  you  must  really  par 
don  us,  doctor;  we  are  due  at  Mrs.  Burton's  for  tea, 
and  I  am  afraid  we  are  late." 

"  I  thought  you  were  about  to  enter  Mrs.  Simp 
son's." 

"  Oh  no,  you  are  mistaken.  Come,  Tetsy.  Good 
afternoon,  doctor.  Come,  Tetsy,  don't  you  hear 
me?" 

Jane  marched  off,  pushing  Mrs.  Lorrimer  and 
Ruth  peremptorily  before  her,  leaving  the  doctor 
silently  convulsed. 

"  Jane  Weston  is  a  rare  woman  ;  there's  not  another 
like  her  in  Lynnport — a  rare  woman,"  he  chuckled. 
Then  he  stood  watching  them  slowly  ascending  the 
steep,  stony  street,  Jane  stopping  now  and  then  to 
remonstrate  with  Tetsy. 

A  high  tea  at  Lynnport  was  quite  a  formidable 
affair,  and  was  conducted  with  state  and  ceremony, 
the  gentry  of  the  town  fully  recognizing  its  social 


26  OFF    LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

significance.     Its  quiet  decorum  savored  of  much 
dignity  and  elegance. 

When  the  ladies  from  the  manor  arrived  at  Mrs. 
Burton's,  after  passing  through  the  row  of  lilac- 
bushes  bordering  the  walk,  they  found  the  front 
door  hospitably  ajar,  and  heard  the  low  hum  of 
voices  issuing  from  the  large  drawing-room  that  ran 
along  the  entire  north  side  of  the  house.  Some 
moments  later  the  trio,  on  entering  the  room,  were 
greeted  pleasantly  by  the  hostess,  and  found  to  their 
chagrin  that  they  were  the  last  comers.  There  were 
some  twenty  ladies  present,  scattered  about  the  long 
apartment.  All  were  talking  in  low,  well-modulated 
voices,  and  all  were  dressed  in  scant  skirts,  scarfs 
on  their  necks,  lace  mitts  covering  their  hands,  and 
wore  the  hair  dressed  high,  with  great  combs  rising 
above  the  smooth  coils.  Tetsy  was  duly  admired 
and  commented  upon,  some  every-day  matters  dis 
cussed,  when  the  hostess  gave  the  signal  to  repair 
to  the  dining-room.  The  ladies  silently  and  with 
great  dignity,  varied  by  numerous  little  courtesies 
and  simpers,  took  their  places  about  the  table,  that 
was  covered  with  a  fine  assortment  of  substantial 
edibles,  in  addition  to  rich  jellies,  preserves,  many 
kinds  of  cake,  and  small  glass  dishes  of  East  India 


VILLAGE    LIFE.  2  7 

sweets  and  candied  ginger.  The  tea  was  hot  and 
of  the  best  quality,  and  under  its  benign  influence 
conversation  gradually  asserted  itself. 

"  Have  you  heard,"  said  Mrs.  Burton,  "that  they 
had  mutiny  on  board  Captain  Hathaway's  ship 
when  at  sea?  I  heard  it  this  morning.  They  say 
the  Captain  wishes  it  kept  quiet,  but  la!  you  might 
as  well  tell  the  sea  to  stop  breaking  on  the  rocks  as 
to  tell  the  Lynnport  gossips  to  be  quiet." 

Mrs.  Lorrimer  lowered  her  eyes  at  these  words, 
and  Aunt  Jane's  hand  came  down  so  heavily  on 
Tetsy,  who  lay  in  her  lap,  that  he  gave  an  ominous 
growl  which  startled  the  entire  company. 

"  He  is  dreaming,"  said  Jane,  "and  always  breathes 
heavily  when  asleep." 

Ruth  leaned  forward  eagerly,  her  lovely  face 
flushed  and  eyes  shining. 

"Tell  us,  Mrs.  Burton,"  she  said,  "what  did  you 
hear  about  the  mutiny?" 

"  Old  Hal  Porter  from  the  Point  told  me  when 
he  came  here  this  morning,  with  some  fish  just 
caught  off  Hallet's  Reef.  He  said  it  happened  on 
the  high  seas,  and  that  Captain  Hathaway  was  the 
bravest  man  that  ever  sailed  a  ship.  Some  of  the 
men  had  been  rebellious  and  complained  of  the  food 


28  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

and  work.  There  had  been  a  storm  and  they  were 
rather  short  for  sleep.  The  Captain  had  suspected 
their  dissatisfaction,  but  did  not  apprehend  any  seri 
ous  danger.  It  seems,  however,  some  of  the  other 
men  had  been  influenced,  and  when  the  Captain 
came  on  deck  one  morning  to  give  orders  to  reef 
the  sails,  only  one  third  of  the  crew  responded. 
He  commanded  their  obedience,  but  they  refused 
it.  One  man  shouted  that  they  were  going  to  put 
the  Captain  in  irons  and  run  the  ship  themselves. 
Now  you  know  Captain  Hathaway  is  young  and — " 

The  ladies  had  laid  down  their  knives  and  forks, 
and  were  listening  intently,  with  their  heads  craned 
forward. 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Ruth;  "what  then?  oh!  what 
then?  Please  hasten,  Mrs.  Burton." 

"  Old  Hal  said — and  he  got  it  straight  from  one 
of  the  crew,  so  I  think  it  is  true — that  the  Captain 
just  stepped  up  to  the  leader,  took  out  his  pistol, 
and  said,  '  The  first  man  who  refuses  to  obey  me  I 
shall  shoot.  I  am  master  on  my  ship.  Reef  the 
sails,'  he  commanded."  Mrs.  Burton  held  the  tea 
pot  out  before  her  as  if  it  were  a  weapon,  and  her 
voice  rose  with  excitement. 

"Go  on,  Mrs.  Burton;    hasten.     You  make  me 


VILLAGE    LIFE.  2Q 

nervous,"  called  the  voice  of  a  little  old  maid  from 
the  foot  of  the  table.  "  You  really  do — I  am  all  of 
a  shiver." 

"  Would  you  believe  it,"  cried  Mrs.  Burton,  still 
brandishing  the  teapot,  "  that  wretched  leader  had 
a  big  knife  in  his  hand,  but  when  he  looked  in  the 
Captain's  eye  he  just  dropped  it  on  the  deck  and 
slunk  away.  The  men  lowered  their  heads,  and  the 
Captain  said,  '  Boys,  reef  the  sails,  and  extra  grog 
for  supper.'  Then  the  men  cried,  '  Hurrah  for  Cap 
tain  Jack ! '  He  only  punished  the  leader,  who  was 
put  in  irons  till  he  reached  port,  and  was  then 
passed  over  to  the  authorities." 

A  strange  thing  happened  at  the  conclusion  of  this 
exciting  narrative.  Mrs.  Lorrimer,  who  had  been 
listening  with  her  eyes  cast  down,  now  raising  them, 
caught  sight  of  Ruth's  beaming  face,  and  dropped 
the  spoon  so  heavily  upon  her  saucer  that  it  broke 
the  fragile  porcelain  into  many  pieces.  Tetsy,  awa 
kened  suddenly  from  his  happy  dreams,  sat  up 
straight  on  his  mistress's  lap  and  gave  vent  to  a 
series  of  long,  dismal  howls. 

"  It  is  of  no  consequence,  Mrs.  Lorrimer;  do  not 
distress  yourself,"  said  Mrs.  Burton,  kindly,  as  Mrs. 
Lorrimer,  whose  eyes  had  filled  with  tears,  endea- 


30  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

vored  to  ask  pardon  for  her  awkwardness.  Jane 
glanced  at  her  sister  sharply  for  a  moment,  then 
shook  Tetsy  a  little  roughly,  causing  that  surprised 
bit  of  importance  to  look  up  with  a  threatening 
aspect. 

Two  or  three  ladies  cried  in  chorus,  "  I  must  say 
Captain  Jack  Hathaway  is  a  brave  man;  and,  Mrs. 
Burton,  isn't  he  handsome?"  One  lady  said,  "I 
never  saw  so  bold  and  bright  an  eye  in  any  man's 
head;  and  such  a  figure!  He  is  a  fine  mate  for 
any  girl  in  Lynnport.  Well,  well,  if  I  were  young 
I  am  sure  I  should  give  him  many  a  shy  glance." 

"  I'll  warrant  you  would,"  said  Mrs.  Burton.  "  But 
mercy,  Ruth,  what  are  you  blushing  for?  Why, 
look  at  the  child;  her  face  is  like  a  peony." 

Thus  brought  into  unpleasant  prominence,  Ruth's 
cheeks  flamed  to  a  brilliant  carmine,  and  she  threw 
the  curls  back  from  her  face  nervously. 

"  I  am  warm,"  she  said. 

"  It  is  warm  for  this  time  of  year,"  said  Jane 
Weston,  in  her  short,  crisp  voice ;  "  and  I  must  say, 
ladies,  that  Captain  Hathaway 's  good  looks  are  not 
the  deepest  subject  of  conversation  to  be  found  in 
the  calendar."  She  shook  her  high  head-dress  im 
patiently,  and  glanced  angrily  toward  Ruth's  blush- 


VILLAGE    LIFE.  31 

ing  countenance,  from  which  the  color  was  now 
slowly  receding,  leaving  it  quite  pale  except  the 
scarlet  of  her  pouting  lips. 

No  one  made  any  answer.  Silence  reigned  for  an 
instant,  nothing  being  heard  but  the  rattle  of  knives 
and  forks  and  the  gentle  bubbling  of  hot  water  over 
the  spirit-lamp,  when  suddenly  Tetsy,  spying  the 
tender  leg  of  a  chicken  resting  upon  a  platter  on 
the  other  side  of  the  table,  sat  erect,  his  long  ears 
twitching  in  a  most  unusual  manner.  Jane  looked 
down  upon  him  surprised,  not  comprehending  this 
unusual  emotion  evinced  by  the  generally  phleg 
matic  Tetsy;  but  before  she  had  time  to  inquire 
into  the  vagaries  of  his  mind  he  darted  from  her 
lap  and  made  a  precipitate  rush  for  the  chicken- 
bone.  Straight  across  country  he  went,  not  stopping 
for  ditch  or  stile,  but,  like  a  plucky  hunter,  overcom 
ing  nil  obstacles  with  a  leap  and  a  run.  Dashing  by 
jelly-molds,  cake-trays,  and  batches  of  hot  muffins, 
he  seized  the  coveted  prize,  and,  with  a  most  comical 
expression  of  triumph  on  his  fat  face,  sat  down  in 
the  chicken-platter,  and  with  the  bone  in  his  mouth 
looked  around  upon  the  scandalized  company. 

Jane  did  not  speak :  she  was  too  much  overcome 
for  that.  She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and 


32  OFF    LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

bowed  her  proud  head  in  humiliation  for  the  dis 
grace  of  her  pet. 

Fortunately  the  tea-party  was  nearly  over.  Mrs. 
Burton  arose,  and,  with  a  slightly  increased  coldness 
in  her  pleasant  voice,  said : 

"  Ladies,  we  will  adjourn  to  the  drawing-room. 
Mrs.  Lorrimer,  let  me  escort  you.  Jane,  we  must 
leave  Tetsy>to  your  tender  mercies." 

Left  alone  with  Tetsy,  Jane  watched  him  anx 
iously.  She  dared  not  interfere  while  he  was  enjoy 
ing  such  a  repast,  so  he  sat  serenely  in  the  china 
platter,  munching  and  crunching  his  bone.  Once 
Jane  endeavored — feebly,  it  is  true — to  remonstrate 
with  him ;  but  a  guttural  tone  and  a  defiant  gleam  in 
his  eye  warned  her  to  keep  her  distance.  She  waited 
patiently,  and  when  he  was  ready  marched  severely 
into  the  drawing-room. 

"I  hope  you  have  punished  that  dog,  Jane,"  said 
Mrs.  Lorrimer.  "  Did  you  whip  him  ?  He  deserved 
it." 

"  I  did  not  whip  him,"  said  Jane. 

"  Did  not !      How  did  you  punish  him  then  ?  " 

"  I — I — reasoned  with  him,"  said  Jane. 

The  Burton's  high  tea  broke  up.  The  ladies 
walked  home  through  the  sweet-scented  country 


VILLAGE    LIFE.  33 

road  in  the  fading  glow  of  the  summer  evening. 
The  changing  colors  of  the  sunset  were  reflected 
on  their  faces,  and  the  soft  sea-breeze  blew  across 
them.  Mrs.  Lorrimer  leaned  upon  her  granddaugh 
ter's  shoulder  and  looked  eagerly  into  the  sweet 
face.  Ruth  did  not  appear  to  be  aware  of  the  ear 
nest  glance.  She  was  looking  across  the  hills  and 
sea  to  the  setting  sun.  Her  eyes  were  dreamy  with 
a  diffused  love-light — the  light  born  of  a  young  girl's 
dreams.  Perhaps  unconsciously  she  was  influenced 
by  the  sights  and  sounds  about  her,  the  serene  beauty 
of  nature,  and  the  loveliness  of  the  twilight.  Ah! 
those  vague,  intangible  dreams  of  youth ;  those  airy 
phantoms  without  substance,  like  will-o'-the-wisps, 
throwing  gleams. of  light,  then  leaving  us  in  dark 
ness. 

"What  are  you  thinking  of,  Ruth?"  said  her 
grandmother,  softly,  as  they  were  turning  in  at  the 
iron  gates  that  led  to  the  manor. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  Captain  Hathaway  and  his 
bravery  in  the  mutiny.  O  grandmother,  how  noble 
he  is !  No  other  captain  could  have  done  as  well ; 
and  think,  if  that  dreadful  man  had  killed  him!" 
She  stood  still  and  looked  toward  Mrs.  Lorrimer 
with  terror  on  her  face. 


34  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

Mrs.  Lorrimer  did  not  reply,  but  turned  her  head 
aside,  a  slight  and  hardly  perceptible  tremor  upon 
her  lips;  and  in  silence  the  three  ladies  walked  up 
the  elm-shaded  avenue  to  the  house.  Mrs.  Lorrimer 
stood  for  a  moment  on  the  piazza.  She  was  tired, 
and  rested  an  instant,  leaning  upon  the  vine- wreathed 
pillar.  Ruth  went  indoors,  and  Jane  stood  waiting 
by  her  sister's  side. 

"Jane — Jane — "  said  Mrs.  Lorrimer,  "this  has 
been  a  hard,  weary  evening.  Can  you  not  see  how 
things  are  tending?  Ruth  is  already  interested  in 
this  young  man.  I  cannot  endure  it,  Jane ;  I  can 
not" 

"  I  cannot  help  you,  Mary,"  said  Jane,  not  un 
kindly.  "We  must  let  things  drift.  There  is  a 
long  step  between  interest  and  marriage.  Don't, 
for  mercy's  sake,  '  cross  bridges  before  you  come 
to  them.'  " 


CHAPTER   III. 

JACK    HATHAWAY. 

RUTH  was  expecting  Captain  Hathaway,  who 
had  said  he  would  be  in  Lynnport  to-day,  and  she 
knew  he  would  come.  The  stage-coach  from  Bos 
ton  would  pass  the  inn  between  three  and  four  in 
the  afternoon ;  shortly  after  that  he  would  be  at  the 
homestead.  She  flew  like  a  bird  about  the  house, 
and,  like  a  bird,  sang  snatches  of  sweet,  old-fashioned 
melodies  which,  heard  now  at  dusk  in  some  coun 
try  house  of  a  past  decade  (the  aged  singer's  tired, 
quavering  voice  rising  and  falling  in  dull  monotony), 
bring  back  to  our  minds  old  memories  long  stifled, 
if  unforgotten.  Perhaps  it  was  of  these  things,  these 
memories  of  the  past,  that  Mrs.  Lorrimer  was  think 
ing  as  she  sat  on  the  wide,  sunny  piazza,  in  a  high- 
backed,  carved  chair,  with  eyes  closed  and  her  deli 
cate,  blue-veined  hands  clasped  idly  in  her  lap.  At 
times  she  would  glance  at  Ruth,  who  passed  in  and 
out  of  the  opened  door  with  bunches  of  roses  and 

35 


36  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

lilacs  in  her  hands,  and  long,  trailing  branches  of 
the  golden  Aaron's-rod.  Ruth's  cheeks  were  as 
pink  as  the  roses  she  carried,  and  the  glitter  of  the 
yellow  blossoms  was  reflected  among  the  light- 
brown  strands  of  her  hair. 

"  Child,  how  restless  you  are !  "  said  Mrs.  Lorrimer, 
when  the  click  of  Ruth's  little  slippered  feet  sounded 
many  times  upon  the  oaken  staircase.  "  Come, 
dear — the  vases  are  all  filled  in  the  drawing-room. 
Come  and  sit  by  me;  I  wish  to  talk  with  you." 

Ruth  sat  down  upon  the  step  at  her  grandmother's 
feet,  and  laid  her  head  against  the  old  lady's  knee. 

"Well,  grandmother,"  she  said,  after  a  pause,  lift 
ing  her  sparkling  face,  "  what  have  you  to  tell  me  ? 
Are  you  going  to  scold  ?  " 

"Oh  no,  I  could  not  do  that,  my  dear,"  she  said, 
as  she  laid  her  hand  on  Ruth's  head.  Ruth  felt  its 
tremulous  motion,  and  thought,  "  Grandmother  is 
not  strong.  Why  should  her  hand  tremble  so?  " 

"  Why  are  you  so  happy  to-day,  Ruth  ?  Is  it 
because  Captain  Hathaway  said  he  was  coming  to 
see  us?"  Then,  suddenly  withdrawing  her  hand 
from  the  girl's  head,  she  continued,  sharply,  "What 
has  he  said  to  you,  Ruth?  Tell  me — tell  me  every 
word.  Keep  nothing  from  me — I  must  know." 


JACK    HATHAWAY.  37 

"He  has  said  nothing;  has  only  been  kind  and 
friendly — that  is  all.  You  know  I  have  not  seen 
him  in  a  long  while — you  surely  remember  how  long 
he  has  been  at  sea?  Sometimes  he  would  send  me 
messages  through  his  sister  Kate's  letters — just  lit 
tle  ordinary  messages.  I  have  nothing  more  to  tell, 
except  that  he  wrote  me  this  note  the  other  day, 
saying  he  would  call  at  the  homestead  on  his  return 
from  Boston." 

"  He  will  be  here  to-day?  "  asked  Mrs.  Lorrimer, 
quickly. 

"  Yes,"  said  Ruth,  softly,  "  he  will  be  here  to 
day."  A  glow  overspread  her  face.  She  turned 
away  her  head  and  looked  expectantly  down  the 
shaded  avenue.  She  was  suddenly  recalled  from 
building  her  intangible  air-castle — that  was  slowly 
raising  its  ghostlike  structure  with  its  frail  supports 
— by  the  abrupt  motion  of  her  grandmother's  rising 
hurriedly  from  her  chair. 

Ruth  turned  quickly,  and  saw  the  old  lady  sway 
slightly  and  put  out  her  hand  to  support  herself  by 
the  back  of  her  chair. 

"Are  you  ill?"  said  Ruth,  excitedly,  rising  from 
the  step. 

"No,   no,   child,   I   am   not  ill."     Mrs.  Lorrimer 


38  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

repulsed  the  girl,  pushed  h.er  away;  then,  turning 
almost  fiercely  upon  her,  said,  "  I  do  not  like  this 
Captain  Jack  Hathaway.  I  am  sorry  he  is  coming 
here.  I  do  not  wish  his  visits  encouraged." 

The  glow  died  out  of  Ruth's  face;  her  figure 
seemed  to  shrink  into  itself;  she  dropped  the  roses, 
and  her  hands  hung  limp  by  her  side.  She  could 
not  understand  this  vehemence,  this  almost  malicious 
vindictiveness  in  her  sweet  and  gentle  grandmother ; 
this  strange  and  unaccountable  dislike  against  a 
young  man  whom  she  hardly  knew.  It  was  inex 
plicable.  Suddenly  a  possible  solution  of  the  mys 
tery  dawned  upon  her.  Mrs.  Lorrimer  had  not 
been  strong  for  years ;  was,  in  fact,  a  semi-invalid ; 
and  what  more  natural  than  that  her  mind  had 
been  weakened  by  the  effect  of  bodily  disease? 
She  would  humor  her,  poor  dear.  No  doubt  she 
had  taken  one  of  those  peculiar  dislikes,  which  is 
so  natural  to  a  sick  mind,  against  the  very  person 
whom  in  health  she  would  have  liked  and  trusted. 
Thus  reasoning,  Ruth  arose,  and,  putting  her  arm 
around  the  old  lady,  guided  her  footsteps  into  the 
house,  into  the  cool,  shaded  drawing-room,  and 
placed  her  in  the  window  that  overlooked  Lynn- 
port  harbor. 


JACK    HATHAWAY.  39 

Mrs.  Lorrimer  clung  helplessly  to  her  grand 
daughter.  "What  was  I  saying,  Ruth?  Did  I 
startle  you?"  She  looked  piteously  into  the  ten 
der  blue  eyes  watching  her  anxiously. 

"  No,  dear.      It  was  about  Captain  Hathaway." 

"  Oh  yes.  He — he — must  not  come  here.  You 
will  obey  me.  He  must  not  come  here.  He — he 
— cannot  be  friends  with  the  Lorrimer  family ;  at 
least  it  were  better  not.  Oh  dear!  oh  dear!  what 
have  I  said?  What  will  Jane  say?  " 

"  I  cannot  forbid  him  the  house,"  said  Ruth, 
gently. 

"  No,  no,  of  course  not ;  but  you  must  not  be  too 
cordial." 

Ruth  did  not  reply.  She  was  drawing  the  soft 
lace  shawl  about  the  thin,  stooping  shoulders,  and 
her  head  was  averted.  At  that  instant  Jane  Wes- 
ton  entered  the  room.  She  took  in  the  situation 
at  a  glance :  Ruth's  troubled,  pale  face,  and  Mrs. 
Lorrimer's  evident  agitation,  which  had  left  her  in 
a  state  of  exhaustion. 

"  Well,  well,  here's  a  pretty  howdy-do,"  she  said, 
in  her  sharp  voice.  "  If  you  are  my  sister,  Mary 
Lorrimer,  I  must  say  I  am  ashamed  of  you.  Have 
you  been  raking  up  those  Hathaway  skeletons 


40  OFF    LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

aeain?"     Ruth  started  at  these  words   and  bent 

o 

forward  eagerly.  Her  aunt  did  not  notice  her. 
"For  Heaven's  sake,  let  their  old  bones  rest!  I 
am  sure  I  for  one  don't  want  them  flung  in  my 
face." 

"Jane,  Jane,  do  not  speak  so,"  said  Mrs.  Lor- 
rimer,  piteously.  "  You  forget  it  does  not  seem  so 
long  ago  to  me.  I  am  old,  Jane ;  I  am  nearing  my 
rest.  The  past  becomes  more  vivid.  It  seems  as 
though  it  were  but  yesterday  when — when — I  hear 
that  name.  I —  "  She  held  out  her  hands,  which 
trembled  like  withered  leaves.  "  Do  not  reproach 
me,  Jane;  do  not;  I  cannot  bear  it.  Have  I  not 
suffered?  "  She  bowed  her  head  on  her  breast. 

Jane  turned  to  Ruth,  who,  with  wide-wondering 
eyes,  was  listening  to  these  strange  words. 

"  Ruth,  go  into  the  garden.  I  will  stay  with 
your  grandmother.  If  Captain  Hathaway  comes 
by  the  harbor  I  will  send  him  to  you ;  if  he  comes 
by  the  road  you  will  see  him  pass  the  garden  gate 
and  can  call  him.  Your  grandmother  is  not  well 
enough  to  see  visitors  to-day." 

Ruth  turned  slowly,  and  was  walking  toward  the 
door  when  Mrs.  Lorrimer  rose  from  her  chair  and, 
looking  entreatingly  at  her  sister,  said : 


JACK    HATHAWAY.  4! 

"Jane,  do  not  let  her  go.  You  can  see  him 
when  he  comes,  and — and — tell  him  we  do  not  de 
sire  his  presence  at  the  homestead.  Say  I — do  not 
desire  it — I,  Mrs.  Lorrimer." 

"  I  shall  do  no  such  thing,  Mary  Lorrimer.  Do 
you  suppose  I  want  to  be  the  laughing-stock  of 
Lynnport  ?  Tell  a  young  man  that  he  cannot  call 
at  a  house !  What  reason  have  I  ?  Why,  Dr.  Good 
year  would  be  up  here  in  no  time,  tapping  my  head 
to  find  if  I  had  a  grain  of  sense  left  in  it.  Ruth, 
go  to  the  garden." 

Ruth  left  the  room  and  walked  down  the  graveled 
path  to  the  garden. 

"You  could  explain,"  said  Mrs.  Lorrimer,  after 
the  sound  of  Ruth's  footsteps  died  away. 

"Explain  what?"  Jane  said,  shortly.  "Your 
humiliation?  " 

Mrs.  Lorrimer  gave  a  sharp  cry  and  placed  her 
hand  to  her  side ;  then  crouched  lower  in  the  chair 
and  stared  stonily  before  her. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  hoarsely,  "you  are  right;  my 
humiliation — no,  I  cannot  explain." 

"  Mary,  Mary,  forgive  me.  I  did  not  mean  to  be 
cruel.  You  can  see  I  cannot  tell  half  and  not  all. 
Forgive  me,  sister." 


42  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

"Yes,  yes,  I  see."  Her  head  fell  forward;  then, 
raising  her  eyes,  she  looked  up  into  the  blue  clouds 
as  they  floated  by  the  .window.  "  We  will  leave  it 
in  God's  hands,"  she  whispered.  "  He  knows  best. 
He  will  guide  the  child's  footsteps."  She  clasped 
her  hands  and  said,  "  May  it  be  Thy  will,  Almighty 
One,  to  keep  our  dear  one  safe!" 

Jane  Weston  laid  her  hand  on  her  sister's  shoulder. 
"  Mary,"  she  said — her  sharp  voice  spoke  in  softer 
tones — "  Mary,  can  you  not  forget  ?  You  are  grow 
ing  old;  you  are  nearing  the  better  world.  Does 
not  the  light  from  that  clear  up  the  darkness  of 
this?" 

"  No,  no,  Jane.  I  am  like  an  Indian ;  I  cannot 
forgive  or  forget." 

Jane  Weston  sighed.  "Did  I  not  suffer  also?" 
she  said,  in  a  tense  tone. 

"  Yes;  yet  your  suffering  was  not  like  mine.  It 
was  not  my  heart  alone,  but  my  wounded  pride,  my 
birthright  from  a  line  of  noble  ancestors,  dragged  in 
the  dust  of  shame.  It  is  that  thought,  Jane,  that 
stings,  burns,  and  bores  into  my  soul." 

Jane  took  her  sister's  hand.  She  did  not  speak, 
only  held  it  tightly  clasped  in  hers,  as  she  glanced 
over  the  shimmering  waters  of  the  harbor. 


JACK    HATHAWAY.  43 

Ruth  walked  slowly  toward  the  garden,  hardly 
comprehending  why  so  great  a  change  had  fallen 
upon  the  beauty  of  the  day,  the  sun  not  appearing 
to  shine  as  brightly,  nor  the  sky  to  look  as  clear,  as 
an  hour  ago.  What  could  Aunt  Jane  have  meant 
when  she  spoke  of  the  Hathaway  skeleton?  Surely 
Captain  Jack  had  done  no  harm?  Why,  he  was 
scarcely  thirty  years  of  age,  and  twelve  years  of  that 
time  he  had  been  at  sea,  with  only  short  intervals 
on  shore.  What  could  she  have  meant?  Perhaps 
it  was  some  idle  tale  heard  from  a  village  gossip. 
Still  it  was  not  like  Aunt  Jane  to  believe  old 
women's  stories.  She  passed  her  hand  across  her 
hair,  brushing  the  stray  curly  strands  back  from 
her  forehead.  There  was  a  troubled  look  in  her 
blue  eyes  as  she  unfastened  the  garden  gate,  lifting 
the  wooden  latch  a*nd  letting  it  fall  absently  into  its 
groove. 

The  wooden  gate  was  built  of  cedar — straight 
boughs,  with  part  of  the  bark  remaining — and  wras 
the  entrance  to  an  arbor  over  which  hung  heavy 
vines.  After  walking  through  the  arbor  one  came 
suddenly  into  the  heart  of  the  garden.  From  earli 
est  childhood  all  things  lovely  in  nature  had  appealed 
to  Ruth's  sensitive,  poetical  organization,  and  Mrs. 


44  OFF   LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

Lorrimer  had  encouraged  this  artistic  temperament, 
allowing  the  child  to  have  her  way  in  all  things  per 
taining  to  the  planning  of  her  garden.  Sheltered 
by  tall,  majestic  rows  of  pines,  with  here  and  there 
an  elm  throwing  its  drooping  branches  over  the 
dark,  somber  foliage  beneath,  lay  about  two  acres 
of  ground  blooming  in  brightness  and  color. 

Ruth  walked  through  rose-arbors  and  by  many 
beds  of  flowers  growing  in  clumps  of  varied  colors : 
dianthus,  marigolds,  phlox,  love-in-the-mist,  tall 
yellow  lilies  and  roses,  large  red  roses  and  little 
white  ones — every  spot  where  Ruth  could  plant 
them ;  for  she  said,  "  Can  one  have  too  much 
sweetness  in  this  world?" 

Ruth  walked  slowly  toward  the  well,  and  laid  her 
hand  on  the  long  sweep  of  cedar- wood  which  held 
the  bucket  by  the  iron  chain.  She  had  made  the 
well  picturesque  by  planting  ferns  and  lichens  on 
its  curb.  Their  water-craving  nature,  fully  satis 
fied  by  the  constant  moisture,  had  blossomed  into 
almost  tropical  growth,  their  large  fronds  encircling 
the  well  like  a  green  wreath.  She  was  thinking  of 
her  Aunt  Jane's  strange  words  and  of  Captain 
Hathaway.  She  knew  it  was  nearly  four  o'clock, 
for  the  shadows  of  the  tall  pines  fell  in  longer  lines 


JACK    HATHAWAY.  45 

across  the  flower-beds,  and  the  breeze  that  always 
came  up  toward  evening  from  the  sea  was  lifting  the 
ferns  upon  the  well-curb  and  letting  them  fall  idly 
again. 

It  was  time  for  the  Captain.  She  took  the 
little  note  from  the  bosom  of  her  dress  and  read  it 
over  for  the  twentieth  time.  "  He  can  walk  from 
the  inn  in  a  short  while,"  she  thought.  "  It  is  only 
a  little  over  a  mile.  He  will  soon  be  here."  Her 
cheeks  became  flushed,  and  her  small  hands  trem 
bled  slightly  as  she  put  the  note  back.  From  where 
she  stood  she  could  see,  through  the  branches  of 
the  trees,  the  highway  that  was  at  the  rear  of  the 
homestead  grounds,  and  which  terminated  upon  the 
sea-shore  a  quarter  of  a  mile  beyond.  Some  instinct 
told  her  the  Captain  would  come  that  way ;  for  she 
knew  the  wind  was  off-shore,  and  he  would  have 
to  beat  down  the  harbor  if  he  sailed ;  while  if  he 
rowed  the  heat  of  the  sun  would  make  it  a  tiresome 
trip.  No,  she  was  sure  he  would  come  by  the 
highway. 

She  watched  nervously  the  opening  through  the 
trees.  Presently  the  handsome  Captain  passed  along 
the  road  with  a  quick,  firm  step,  and  entered  the 
entrance-gates  that  stood  at  the  head  of  the  avenue. 


46  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

When  he  reached  the  south  side  of  the  garden  she 
called  to  him.  He  turned  quickly  and  looked  in 
quiringly  over  the  hedge  in  her  direction. 

Ruth  left  the  well  and  hurried  to  lift  the  latch  of 
the  cedar  gate.  She  looked  very  rosy  when  she 
bade  him  enter  and  rest  in  the  shade  before  going 
to  the  house.  Her  grandmother  could  not  see  him 
to-day — she  was  ill;  but  presently  they  would  go 
to  the  house  and  see  Aunt  Jane.  Would  he  not 
come  and  take  a  seat  on  the  rustic  bench  near  the 
sun-dial?  It  was  always  so  pleasant  there  under 
the  shade  of  the  pear-tree. 

Captain  Jack  did  not  desire  a  second  invitation. 
He  clasped  the  hand  she  held  out  to  him,  and  said, 
in  a  loud,  hearty  voice : 

"Miss  Lorrimer,  I'm  in  luck.  What  a  beautiful 
spot  this  is!  After  a  long  sea- voyage  it  is  like  a 
glimpse  of  Paradise.  You  must  have  some  secret 
power  over  the  flowers  to  make  them  flourish  like 
this." 

Captain  John  Hathaway,  or  rather  Jack  Hath 
away,  as  he  was  generally  called  in  Lynnport,  was 
a  remarkably  handsome  man,  tall,  muscular,  and 
straight,  and  had  a  dark,  Spanish-hued  face,  with 
the  strange  contrast  of  blue  eyes.  His  chin  was 


JACK    HATHAWAY.  47 

smooth-shaven  and  his  mouth  was  strong,  with  lines 
denoting  will  and  endurance. 

He  seemed  to  carry  with  him  the  breath  of  the 
sea,  and  was  a  born  sailor,  not  a  made  one.  From 
earliest  boyhood  he  had  lived  more  or  less  upon 
the  water.  He  was  stifled  in  the  inland;  the  hills 
seemed  to  close  about  him  like  walls  to  bury  him. 
Perhaps  in  his  veins  flowed  a  strain  inherited  from 
some  viking  of  the  northlands,  some  Norseman 
conqueror  of  storm  and  gale. 

His  father  had  died  when  Captain  Jack  was  about 
twenty  years  of  age,  leaving  him  a  small  fortune, 
part  of  which  was  invested  in  the  merchantman  he 
commanded  and  owned,  and  which  plied  between 
Boston  and  China. 

His  mother  died  when  he  and  his  twin  sister  Kate 
were  eight  years  old — the  sister  whom  he  loved, 
revered,  and  pitied.  Kate  Hathaway  was  born  de 
formed,  and  had  struggled  through  life  fighting  a 
great  and  patient  fight  with  weakness  and  suffering, 
her  little  pinched  face  and  deep-set  eyes  telling  only 
too  well  the  sad  story.  When  the  Captain  went  to 
sea  he  installed  her  in  a  pretty  dormer-windowed 
cottage  on  the  hill  above  the  town,  and  there,  with 
an  attendant,  Mrs.  Sarah  Munn,  a  widow  from  a 


48  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

small  hamlet  beyond  Lynnport,  she  lived  her  life. 
Poor  little  Kate!  the  joy  and  happiness  of  whose 
existence  was  her  handsome  brother;  her  occupa 
tions,  little  parish  duties  and  rigid  struggles  to  hide 
her  sufferings.  She  would  say  to  Mrs.  Munn : 

"  Why  should  two  suffer  when  it  is  only  necessary 
for  one  ?  If  I  can  hide  my  pain  from  Jack  and  you 
and  my  friends  in  Lynnport,  it  is  clearly  my  duty 
to  do  so." 

Mrs.  Munn,  at  such  remarks,  would  wipe  her  eyes 
on  her  coarse  gingham  apron,  and  hurry  from  the 
room  to  the  kitchen,  where  she  would  inform  the 
pots  and  pans,  in  a  fierce  whisper,  that,  "  for  her 
part,  the  ways  of  Providence  was  the  curioust  ways 
she'd  ever  hearn  on ;  and  if  it  warn't  that  there  was 
another  world  comin',  where  the  loose  ends  o'  this 
one  would  be  straightened  out,  she,  for  her  part, 
would  rather  die,  and  die  for  good,  and  get  red  of 
it  all."  After  which  rather  irreverent  outburst  she 
would  remorsefully  put  on  her  glasses,  take  her 
Bible  from  the  shelf  above  the  fireplace,  and  with 
sundry  loud  sighs  and  groans  read  a  chapter. 

The  Hathaways  of  past  generations  had  been  well 
known  and  respected  in  Lynnport.  They  had  lived 
there  many  years.  In  fact,  the  Hathaway  farm- 


JACK    HATHAWAY.  49 

house  on  the  turnpike  road  to  Boston  had  been 
built  for  nearly  a  century,  but  was  now  in  the  hands 
of  strangers. 

Not  much  was  known  of  Jack's  father  in  later 
years,  he,  with  his  wife,  having  lived  the  lives  of 
recluses  on  a  small  island  in  the  harbor,  seldom 
coming  to  the  town.  Upon  the  death  of  his  wife 
he  left  his  lonely  island  home,  taking  a  house  on  the 
outskirts  of  Lynnport,  where  he  passed  a  hermit's 
existence,  shunning  all  intercourse  with  his  neigh 
bors — a  silent,  morose  creature  who  was  feared  and 
disliked.  In  this  atmosphere  of  gloom  and  depres 
sion,  with  their  taciturn,  lonely  parent,  the  little 
twins  struggled  from  childhood  to  youth. 

When  old  Mr.  Hathaway  died  it  was  found  that 
there  was  considerable  property,  which  he  had 
divided  equally  between  his  children. 

Jack  could  now  realize  the  dream  of  his  life, 
which  was  to  own  his  ship  and  be  her  captain.  He 
left  Lynnport  one  fine  morning,  standing  upon  the 
deck  of  the  "  Bonny  Kate,"  the  youngest  captain 
that  ever  sailed  from  the  harbor. 

He  had  met  Ruth  at  his  sister's  during  the  inter 
vals  of  his  long  sea-voyages.  Sunday  afternoons 
Kate  Hathaway  taught  a  small  class  of  children 


50  OFF    LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

and  read  them  Bible  stories.  Mrs.  Lorrimer  and 
Jane  gave  their  consent  to  the  child  Ruth's  joining 
them.  At  these  classes  the  young  Captain  first 
met  the  little  one,  whom  he  teased  and  petted ;  and 
when  Ruth  was  about  sixteen  he  was  startled  by  the 
loveliness  that  was  slowly  expanding  as  the  years 
went  by. 

There  is  an  unswerving  fate  shaping  all  destinies. 
Mrs.  Lorrimer  had  seen  no  danger  in  the  child  bring 
ing  a  stray  bit  of  comfort  to  the  crippled  girl;  had 
not  seen  the  cloud  in  the  sky,  nor  heard  the  rumble 
of  the  storm  afar  off,  nor  appreciated  the  dawning  of 
an  interest  that  in  future  years  would  expand  into 
stronger  growth.  The  little  one  went  to  her  les 
sons,  and  at  long  intervals  saw  Captain  Jack  when 
he  came  home  for  a  short  furlough.  In  the  mean 
time  the  years  passed  like  stealthy  shadows ;  Ruth 
became  a  woman,  and  the  old  people  dozed  on  at 
the  manor,  all  unconscious  that  the  hand  of  fate  was 
shaping  her  life. 

The  Captain  had  thought  of  Ruth  many  times  dur 
ing  the  long  nights  at  sea;  so  many  times,  in  fact, 
that  he  had  written  her,  when  port  was  reached,  that 
he  would  call  at  the  homestead.  Now  that  he  was 
here,  holding  her  hand  and  looking  into  her  face,  he 


JACK    HATHAWAY.  51 

understood  why,  during  those  starlight  nights  in  the 
tropics,  when  the  ship  passed  through  long,  undulat 
ing  lines  of  moonlight,  he  had  seen  neither  stars  nor 
moonlight,  but  instead  his  sister's  cottage,  with  Ruth 
sitting  by  the  fireside  that  October  afternoon  before 
the  ship  had  sailed.  How  young  and  girlish  she 
looked,  and  how  sadly  she  had  spoken  when  she 
said :  "  We  shall  miss  you  so  much,  Captain  Jack. 
You  will  not  be  gone  three  years  this  time,  will 
you  ?  " 

He  had  only  stayed  two  years.  Now  he  was  in 
her  garden,  she  by  his  side,  looking  up  at  him  with 
shy,  beaming  eyes.  Ruth  appeared  to  him  even 
more  lovely  than  the  visions  he  had  of  her  at  sea. 
He  felt  the  sweetness  of  her  presence,  the  stillness 
and  beauty  of  the  garden  tending  to  enhance  that 
sweetness.  To  him  she  was  like  a  white  lily  stand 
ing  among  other  flowers  of  a  more  transient  growth. 
The  Captain  was  not  a  poetical  man ;  he  only  felt 
this  in  some  vague,  intangible  way.  He  could  not 
have  put  into  words  his  feelings  if  he  had  so  wished. 
Instead  he  talked  of  commonplace  matters — his  voy 
age,  his  sister's  health,  the  Lynnport  news,  and  said 
he  was  glad  they  were  well  at  the  homestead,  and 
remarked  how  much  she  had  grown. 


52  OFF   LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

Ruth  sat  very  quiet  and  listened,  the  blush  creep 
ing  up  into  her  face  and  the  long-lashed  lids  droop 
ing.  Sometimes  she  ventured  a  remark  in  a  low 
voice.  She  had  forgotten  about  the  Hathaway 
skeletons ;  the  rattle  of  their  old  bones  was  stilled ; 
the  closed  door  of  the  closet  was  securely  locked 
upon  them.  Why  should  she  think  of  them?  Wras 
she  not  happy — very,  very  happy  ? 

The  shadows  of  the  pines  fell  across  the  garden 
— long  and  slender  lines  of  gloom,  that  lay  upon  the 
grass,  then  cre.pt  slowly  upon  the  dial.  Still  they 
talked  on.  What  was  time  to  them  as  they  read 
together  the  first  pages  of  the  sweet  old  love-story, 
those  first  pages  so  full  of  promise,  the  last  chapters 
blessedly  hidden  in  a  flood  of  hope  ? 


CHAPTER   IV. 

MRS.  LORRIMER'S  SUSPICIONS. 

JANE  WESTON  stood  silently  by  her  sister's  side 
for  some  moments  after  Ruth  left  them,  then  said, 
gently : 

"  Mary,  let  me  take  you  upstairs  to  your  room. 
I  will  see  this  young  man.  You  can  trust  me;  I 
will  be  discreet." 

The  old  lady  struggled  feebly  to  her  feet.  Lean 
ing  on  Jane's  arm,  she  slowly  crossed  the  room  and 
ascended  the  staircase.  When  part  way  up,  on  the 
wide  landing  where  the  tall  clock  stood,  with  two 
high-backed,  carved  chairs  beside  it,  she  wearily 
seated  herself,  and  looked  wistfully  from  the  oval 
window,  which  commanded  a  wide  view  of  the  sea 
and  the  lighthouse. 

"Jane,"  she  said,  "  I  am  surely  more  feeble  than 
I  was  last  summer.  I  never  had  to  rest  on  the 
landing  before." 

53 


54  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

"  It  is  nothing,  Mary ;  don't  fret.  This  young 
man's  visit  has  upset  you." 

"Ah  well!  perhaps  so." 

It  happened  that  when  Captain  Hathaway  and 
Ruth,  some  half  an  hour  later,  came  slowly  toward 
the  house  from  the  direction  of  the  garden,  Aunt 
Jane,  grim  and  dignified,  and  Tetsy,  fat  and  com 
placent,  were  awaiting  them  on  the  piazza. 

"Captain  Hathaway,"  said  Ruth,  blushing,  "my 
aunt,  Miss  Weston." 

Miss  Weston  bowed  stiffly,  her  body  erect  like  a 
ramrod,  and  her  head  merely  bending  a  trifle  for 
ward.  She  gave  the  Captain  a  sharp  glance  from 
her  shrewd  eyes,  then  indicated  by  a  motion  of  the 
hand  that  he  was  to  seat  himself  in  one  of  the  chairs 
on  the  piazza.  He  did  as  she  desired.  Then  an 
awkward  pause  ensued,  which  was  broken  in  a  most 
unexpected  manner. 

Tetsy  had  been  asleep,  or  presumably  so,  on  a 
soft  pillow  placed  upon  a  chair  near  by.  When  the 
Captain  became  seated  our  four-footed  friend  lifted 
himself  erect,  gave  the  visitor  a  keen  glance,  shook 
himself  slightly,  and  slowly  and  laboriously  de 
scended  from  his  bed.  He  crossed  the  floor,  paused 
directly  before  the  Captain,  and,  lifting  himself 


MRS.  LORRIMER'S  SUSPICIONS.  55 

upon  his  hind  feet,  placed  one  fore  paw  upon  the 
Captain's  arm,  and  offered  him  the  other  to  shake 
— offered  it  in  a  good-natured,  cordial  fashion,  not 
limp  and  nerveless. 

Aunt  Jane  was  amazed  at  this  mark  of  attention 
conferred  by  her  favorite.  He  was  generally  so 
chary  of  caresses,  and  unduly  suspicious  of  stran 
gers,  that  she  had  begun  to  put  a  high  value 
upon  his  powers  of  discernment  and  intuition.  Not 
content  with  a  mere  hand-shake,  he  jumped  into 
the  Captain's  lap  and  sat  looking  reproachfully  at 
his  mistress,  as  though  reproving  her  for  a  lack  of 
hospitality. 

"  He's  a  fine  dog,"  said  the  Captain,  patting  his 
soft,  silken  coat. 

"  Yes,"  said  Jane,  shortly. 

"  He  seldom  shakes  hands  with  strangers,"  said 
Ruth;  "you  are  favored." 

"  Ah!"  said  Jack,  "the  old  fellow  likes  me;  that 
is  a  good  sign.  Do  you  know,  Miss  Weston,  I 
would  rather  have  a  good  honest  dog  for  a  friend 
than  half  the  people  one  meets.  Why,  the  '  Bonny 
Kate '  could  not  put  out  to  sea  without  my  Rover; 
he's  the  most  precious  freight  aboard.  I  always 
say,  '  Boys,  if  there  is  a  wreck,  remember  Rover's 


56  OFF  LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

to  go  in  the  first  life-boat.'  'Aye,  aye/  they  say, 
with  a  will,  every  man  of  them." 

"Yes?"  said  Jane,  stiffly. 

Captain  Hathaway  looked  at  her  in  surprise,  then 
across  at  Ruth's  pained,  embarrassed  face.  Some 
thing  was  wrong  evidently.  After  some  further  des 
ultory  conversation  he  arose  with  a  sensation  of  chill 
and  disappointment  creeping  over  him.  Had  he  of 
fended,  unconsciously  wounded,  this  stern-visaged 
old  aunt?  He  was  hurt  and  puzzled.  "I  must 
get  back  to  Lynnport,"  he  said. 

Jane  did  not  speak.  She  arose  also,  but  did  not 
hold  out  her  hand. 

Ruth's  generally  sweet  face  was  clouded,  and  her 
small  hands  twitched  nervously. 

"  Good  afternoon,"  said  the  Captain,  his  hat  in 
his  hand,  the  sun  shining  full  on  his  bronzed,  hand 
some  face.  "The  homestead  is  a  beautiful  spot. 
May  I  come  again,  Miss  Weston?"  There  was  a 
little  vvistfulness  in  his  voice.  Jane  was  not  proof 
against  it,  and  did  what  she  ever  afterward  deeply 
regretted — she  smiled  slightly,  and  said : 

"  If  you  wish,  Captain  Hathaway."  She  would 
have  given  much  to  recall  the  words  after  they  had 
been  uttered.  It  was  too  late;  they  had  been 


MRS.  LORRIMER'S  SUSPICIONS.  57 

forced  from  her  involuntarily.  Fate  had  inter 
posed,  and  the  fine  blue  eyes  of  the  Captain  lit  up 
with  pleasure. 

"Thank  you,  Miss  Weston,"  he  said;  "thank  you. 
I  shall  come  again." 

Ruth  walked  with  him  down  the  avenue  that  led 
to  the  highroad,  Tetsy  following  slowly,  basely  de 
serting  his  mistress,  who  watched  them  till  a  bend 
in  the  shaded  path  hid  them  from  view.  Then  she 
stood  very  still  a  moment,  and  looked  strangely  be 
fore  her,  with  an  expression  of  having  seen  an  ap 
parition. 

"How  very  like  he  is,"  she  said;  "how  very 
like!  Heaven  help  me!  have  I  made  a  mistake?" 

When  the  Captain  and  Ruth  reached  the  iron  en 
trance-gates  they  paused.  He  stooped  and  picked 
some  grasses  and  a  few  daisies  that  had  sprung  up 
close  to  the  gates.  The  country  road  was  very 
quiet;  no  vehicles  were  passing;  a  rise  in  the  road 
hid  the  nearest  house  from  view.  In  the  distance 
they  could  see  the  roofs  of  the  village,  rising  one 
above  the  other  on  the  terraced  hillside,  while' 
through  the  trees  on  their  right  they  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  ocean  and  heard  its  soft  lap  on  the 
rocks. 


58  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

Jack  leaned  over  Ruth  and  held  out  the  daisies. 

"Your  aunt  was  not  cordial  in  her  welcome,"  he 
said ;  "  perhaps  she  does  not  like  seafaring  men.  I 
know  some  have  a  prejudice  that  way."  He  looked 
thoughtful  a  moment,  then  added,  brightly,  "  Per 
haps  I  imagined  it.  What  could  she  have  against 
me?  At  any  rate,  she  has  permitted  me  to  call 
again." 

"  She  can  have  nothing  against  you,"  said  Ruth, 
in  a  low  voice,  with  her  head  averted. 

"  Miss  Lorrimer,  Ruth — let  me  call  you  Ruth,  as 
I  did  when  you  were  a  little  girl."  He  took  her 
hand  and  laid  the  bunch  of  flowers  in  it.  Her 
hand  closed  over  them,  and  she  looked  down  shyly. 
"  You  bid  me  welcome,  Ruth,  do  you  not  ?  Can  I 
not  come  again  to  the  homestead?" 

A  tremor  shook  the  girl  from  head  to  foot,  and 
her  breath  came  shortly. 

'''  They — they" —  she  paused — "  seem  not  to  like 
your  coming.  I  know  not  why,  but  I — "  She 
stopped. 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  the  Captain,  "let  us  leave  them 
out  of  the  question.  This  is  a  subject  for  you  and 
me  to  settle." 

"  I — I — want  you  to  come,"  she  said,  softly. 


MRS.  LORRIMER'S  SUSPICIONS.  59 

The  Captain  caught  her  hand  fiercely.  "  Then  I 
shall  come.  Not  all  the  aunts  or  grandmothers  in 
the  world  can  keep  me  away,  so  long,  Ruth,  as  you 
bid  me  come." 

He  did  not  seem  to  know  how  tightly  he  was 
holding  her  hand.  It  was  red  from  the  marks  of 
his  fingers  when  he  released  it.  She  said  nothing 
and  held  her  hand  behind  her. 

"  They  may  be — be — rude  to  you,"  said  Ruth, 
reddening.  "  Not  grandmother — grandmother  could 
not  be  rude  to  any  one;  but  Aunt  Jane — she — " 

"  She  will  not  be  rude  to  me,"  said  Captain  Hath 
away.  "  I  think  I  understand  Jane  Weston.  At 
any  rate,  one  must  expect  a  few  breakers  on  every 
voyage." 

Ruth  placed  the  bunch  of  daisies  in  the  belt  of 
her  gown,  and  drew  the  lace  cape  more  closely  over 
her  shoulders,  but  did  not  reply. 

The  Captain  seemed  to  be  thinking;  suddenly 
he  said,  abruptly : 

"  Ruth,  I  must  go  to  Boston  to-morrow,  and  shall 
probably  be  gone  until  July.  It  is  about  the  cargo. 
When  I  return  I  shall  have  the  rest  of  the  summer 
to  myself.  I  shall  not  sail  until  September.  Can 
you  write  to  me  while  I  am  in  Boston?" 


60  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

"No,  no,"  she  said.  "I  dare  not;  I  could  not 
deceive  grandmother." 

His  face  darkened  for  an  instant,  and  he  tapped 
his  foot  impatiently  on  the  ground. 

"  I  do  not  understand  this  talk  of  deception,"  he 
said.  "  Why  should  you  deceive  any  one  ?  Tell 
them;  they  cannot  object." 

"  They  would,  they  would,"  she  said.  "  Do  not 
ask  me;  I  cannot  explain.  I  know  nothing,  but  I 
fear  much.  At  times  a  great  dread  comes  over  me 
— no,  I  dare  not  write." 

"  Well,  then,  I  shall  write  you  and  send  my  let 
ters  to  my  sister.  You  can  get  them  there." 

"  No,  no,  that  would  be  the  same.  I  could  not 
do  that." 

"  Great  Neptune !  Ruth,  explain  matters.  What 
am  I  to  do?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said,  helplessly,  the  tears 
standing  thickly  on  her  long,  curling  lashes. 

"Well,  then,  let  it  be  so,"  he  said,  impatiently. 
"  We  will  not  write.  In  July,  if  I  am  a  living  man, 
I  am  coming  to  the  homestead  to  have  matters 
cleared  up.  In  the  meantime,  Ruth,  give  a  few 
thoughts  to  the  sailor  lad,  won't  you?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  softly. 


MRS.  LOKRIMER'S  SUSPICIONS.  61 

"  Now  tell  me,"  he  said,  laughingly,  "  how  many 
times  do  you  suppose  you  will  think  of  me?  " 

"  I  think — I  shall  think  a  good  many  times." 

"Well,  how  many?"  he  urged,  coaxingly. 

"  I  could  not  count  them,"  she  said,  in  a  whisper. 

He  heard  her  and  laughed.  He  stepped  lightly 
through  the  opened  gateway,  then  came  back  again 
and  lifted  her  face  to  his  and  looked  sharply  into 
her  clear  eyes. 

"  I  trust  you,"  he  said,  earnestly.  He  seemed 
satisfied.  At  that  instant  they  heard  the  crunch  of 
wagon- wheels  on  the  other  side  of  the  rise  of 
ground,  and  presently  Dr.  Goodyear,  in  his  old- 
fashioned,  two-wheeled  gig,  came  in  sight. 

The  doctor  looked  inquiringly  at  the  couple  stand 
ing  so  close  together  by  the  gate — a  scrutinizing 
glance  through  his  steel-bowed  spectacles — then, 
leaning  over  the  side  of  the  carriage,  he  cried,  in  a 
gruff  voice : 

"  Do  you  know  the  dew  is  beginning  to  fall,  and 
there  is  a  big  fog-bank  off  the  ledge?  Reef  your 
sails,  Captain  Hathaway,  and  get  into  the  wind. 
Steer  for  smooth  waters,  my  boy ;  steer  for  smooth 
waters.  It's  stormy  off  the  manor-house  rocks." 

"  Aye,  aye,"  said  Jack.    With  a  bow  and  a  wave 


62  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

of  the  hand  he  passed  on,  wondering,  as  he  walked 
rapidly,  what  significance  lay  in  the  doctor's  speech 
—some  hidden  meaning,  he  was  sure. 

"  I  was  coming  to  see  your  grandmother,  Ruth," 
said  the  doctor.  "  How  is  she  to-day?  " 

"  Not  so  well,"  said  Ruth. 

The  doctor  was  guiding  his  horse  up  the  avenue 
of  elms,  and  Ruth  was  walking  by  the  side  of  the 
gig.  Tetsy  was  seated  by  the  doctor's  side  on  the 
seat,  whither  he  had  insisted  upon  being  placed ;  his 
fat  body  rolled  backward  and  forward  with  every 
jolt  of  the  vehicle. 

"What  do  you  think  of  the  Captain,  little  girl?" 
presently  said  the  doctor,  giving  her  a  sharp  glance. 

Ruth's  sensitive,  telltale  face  spoke  for  itself. 
"  Oh,  I  think  I  like  him  very  much,  doctor,"  she 
said.  "  He — he — is  so  handsome,  and — and — so 
brave  and  strong.  Do  you  not  think  so?  " 

"Humph! — yes,  I  suppose  he  is  all  that.  But 
these  sea-dogs  are  a  roving  lot,  here  to-day,  gone 
to-morrow,  shifting  as  the  sands  of  the  sea.  I  tell 
you,  now,  they  are  not  the  men  to  put  your  faith 
in,  or  to — well,  we  will  say,  just  for  a  simile,  to 
marry.  Think  of  a  woman,  now,  that  never  sees 
her  husband,  say,  for  anywhere  from  three  to  seven 


MRS.  LORRIMER'S  SUSPICIONS.  63 

years — what  kind  of  a  home  can  she  have?  If  she 
goes  to  sea  with  him  what  kind  of  a  life  is  that,  I'd 
like  to  know?  " 

"  Yes,  but,  doctor,  many  women  marry  sailors 
and  are  happy." 

"  I'd  like  to  know  the  happy  ones.  Those  I  see 
always  look  strained  and  wild,  as  though  they  were 
seeing  wrecks  at  sea  and  drowning  men.  You  go 
into  the  cottages  on  the  shore  stormy  winter  nights 
when  the  fleet  is  out,  if  you  want  to  see  the  happy 
sailors'  wives." 

"  If  I  cared  for  any  one  very  much,"  said  Ruth, 
firmly,  "  I  would  rather  see  him  once  in  seven. years 
— yes,  ten  years,  if  it  had  to  be  so — than  to  see  any 
one  I  did  not  like  oftener,  even  if  he  adored  me  all 
the  time." 

"  Why,  child,  I  was  not  talking  about  you.  How 
you  apply  cases  to  yourself!  Of  course  you  must 
stay  with  Mrs.  Lorrimer.  Your  duty  is  to  her.  If 
you  marry,  he  must  be  a  landsman,  remember,  and 
a  good  son  to  the  old  lady.  She's  done  everything 
for  you,  Ruth ;  remember  that.  She  loves  you  bet 
ter  than  life  itself.  She's  had  sorrow,  my  little  girl 
— more  than  falls  often  to  the  lot  of  mortals." 

Ruth  turned  away  her  head.    The  doctor  touched 


64  OFF    LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

his  old  horse  sharply  with  the  whip,  waking  him  from 
his  nap  so  abruptly  that  Tetsy  was  deposited  rather 
unceremoniously  in  the  bottom  of  the  carriage,  from 
which  the  doctor  extricated  him  as  speedily  as  pos 
sible,  as  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  high  head-dress 
outlined  against  one  of  the  windows  of  the  house. 

It  was  Sunday  afternoon  when  Mrs.  Lorrimer 
came  downstairs  again.  Dr.  Goodyear  had  cau 
tioned  Miss  Weston  that  she  must  be  kept  very 
quiet.  Her  heart  was  weak;  they  must  hide  an 
noying  things  from  her. 

Ruth  had  heard  him  give  this  parting  injunction 
as  he  stood  on  the  landing  of  the  stairs.  There 
was  a  grave  look  in  his  eyes.  Her  heart  seemed  to 
throb  more  quickly  for  an  instant.  Could  it  be  that 
her  grandmother  was  really  ill  ? 

When  the  doctor  reached  the  outer  door  she 
joined  him,  and,  laying  her  hand  on  his  sleeve, 
said,  in  a  whisper: 

"  Is  grandmother  very  ill?  " 

"Not  to  say  very  ill,"  said  the  doctor,  kindly; 
"only  old — and  weak." 

Ruth  looked  earnestly  into  his  face. 

"What  caused  this  last  attack?  Was  she  trou 
bled  by  anything,  doctor?" 


MRS.  LORRIMER'S  SUSPICIONS.  65 

"Troubled?  Nonsense,  child;  what  could  trou 
ble  her?" 

"  I  don't  know;  only  I  thought  perhaps — " 

"Well,  what?"  said  the  doctor,  sharply. 

"  I  thought  it  had  something  to  do  with  Captain 
Hathaway's  visit.  She  was  taken  worse  that  after 
noon." 

The  doctor  was  drawing  on  his  gloves,  and,. turn 
ing  to  her,  said : 

"  Well,  well,  don't  fret,  child.  Be  a  good  grand 
daughter  to  the  old  lady,  and — and — don't  give  a 
thought  to  that  handsome  rover  of  the  sea." 

When  Mrs.  Lorrimer  came  down  that  Sunday 
afternoon  and  took  her  seat  in  the  north  drawing- 
room,  she  seemed  to  have  suddenly  aged.  Though 
the  exquisite  patrician  air  of  the  gentlewoman  was 
yet  apparent,  it  was  like  the  last  bright  flame  flicker 
ing  before  the  fire  burns  low;  like  the  dainty  porce 
lain  that  has  an  invisible  weak  place  in  its  surface, 
and  which  the  slightest  touch  would  shatter  into  a 
thousand  fragments.  Her  shoulders  stooped,  and  the 
beautiful  white  hands  were  never  still ;  they  flut 
tered  tremulously  and  crossed  and  recrossed  as  they 
lay  in  her  lap.  The  contour  of  her  perfect  features 
was  outlined  with  unusual  sharpness  as  her  head 


66  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

rested  against  the  back  of  her  chair.  She  sat  very 
quietly  for  some  time,  her  eyes  wandering  through 
the  open  window  over  the  familiar  country;  then 
she  turned  her  gaze,  and  looked  up  and  down  the 
long  room  at  the  portraits  of  her  ancestors  which 
lined  the  walls.  Stern-visaged,  many  of  them,  as 
they  appeared  to  return  her  intent  gaze  ;  gold-laced, 
powdered-wigged,  proud  in  their  day  and  generation. 
Westons  and  Lorrimers,  there  their  portraits  hung 
— all  that  was  left  to  tell  of  the  fine  old  New  Eng 
land  family;  "and,"  thought  Mrs.  Lorrimer,  "they 
are  all  dead.  None  left  of  the  good  old  stock  but 
Jane  and  little  Ruth  and  me.  And  I — I — shall  soon 
be  asleep.  .  I  am  very  weary;  it  will  be  better  so." 

There  she  sat  that  Sunday  afternoon  in  the  old 
house,  thinking,  thinking,  ever  thinking — the  solace 
of  the  aged  when  all  other  effort  is  too  great. 

Presently  Jane  and  Ruth  came  from-  service  in 
the  village  church.  They  stepped  softly  across  the 
threshold,  and  when  they  saw  Mrs.  Lorrimer's  posi 
tion  thought  her  asleep.  Her  head  was  resting 
against  the  back  of  her  chair;  the  rays  of  the  sun, 
that  was  going  down  beyond  the  hills  that  lined  the 
harbor,  rested  in  yellow  lines  upon  her  hair.  She 
smiled  when  she  heard  their  steps. 


MRS.  LORRIMER'S  SUSPICIONS.  67 

"I  was  not  asleep,"  she  said;  "I  was  watching 
the  sunset.  It  seemed  quite  as  good  to  me  as  going 
to  church.  I  read  God's  power  and  goodness  in  the 
beauty  of  the  clouds.  I  have  seen  so  many  sunsets 
in  my  life,  and  yet  to-night  it  seemed  more  won 
derful  than  any." 

Ruth  kissed  her  grandmother,  but  did  not  speak. 

"  Sing  something  for  me,  Ruth — one  of  the  old 
hymns.  Never  mind  the  spinet.  Come  and  sit 
close  to  me  and  put  your  hand  in  mine.  We  will 
sing  together."  Jane  went  softly  from  the  room. 

They  sang  together,  in  Mrs.  Lorrimer's  feeble 
treble  and  Ruth's  sweet,  clear  voice,  some  of  the 
Puritan  hymns — those  strains  that  first  rang  out  in 
the  resonant  tones  of  the  early  settlers  in  the  wil 
derness. 

When  the  hymns  were  finished,  and  the  shadows 
were  filling  the  long  room,  making  the  bewigged 
ancestors  look  gloomy  and  taciturn  as  they  peered 
from  their  frames  in  the  gloom,  Mrs.  Lorrimer  laid 
her  hand  on  Ruth's  head  and  drew  her  closely  to 
her. 

"My  dear  child,"  she  said,  solemnly,  "something 
tells  me  that  I  am  growing  more  feeble  each  day, 
and  that  perhaps  my  time  here  is  not  very  long." 


68  OFF    LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

"  Oh  no,  no,"  said  Ruth,  holding  Mrs.  Lorrimer's 
hand  tightly. 

"It  must  be  so,  Ruth;  I  am  an  old  woman. 
What  I  want,  dear,  is  that  you  will  promise  to  stay 
with  the  old  grandmother  while  I  live.  It  must  not 
be  idle  words,  but  a  solemn  promise.  I  know  that 
if  you  give  me  your  word  you  will  keep  it." 

"But  where  could  I  go,  grandmother?"  said 
Ruth.  "  This  is  the  only  home  I  have." 

A  strange  feeling  of  depression  crept  over  the 
girl  as  she  waited  her  grandmother's  reply.  The 
shadows  in  the  long  room  grew  blacker,  and  the 
faces  of  the  portraits  took  on  a  menacing  and 
threatening  aspect.  One  white-faced  lady  in  frill 
and  pompadour  appeared  pointing  her  long  slender 
finger  in  a  warning  attitude. 

"  I  know  you  have  no  other  home  at  present. 
One  cannot  tell,  however,  what  the  future  may 
hold ;  what  gallant  young  lover  may  woo  and  win 
my  little  maid." 

"And  you  would  not  want  me  to  go  to  him?" 
queried  Ruth. 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Lorrimer — her  voice  sounded 
quite  strong  and  clear — "  I  would  not  want  you  to 
go  to  him.  You  must  give  me  your  promise  you — " 


MRS.  LORRIMER'S  SUSPICIONS.  69 

"  Mary,"  said  Jane  Weston,  from  the  threshold 
of  the  door.  The  two  turned  their  heads  quickly. 
Jane's  tall,  angular  figure  towered  in  the  doorway. 
"  For  goodness'  sake,  what  are  you  sitting  in  the 
dark  for?  Why,  it  is  as  black  as  Egypt.  I  never 
could  understand  this  mooning  in  the  dark.  For 
my  part,  give  me  a  good  candelabra,  with  straight 
wicks,  and  no  shrouds  or  thieves  in  the  flame." 

While  speaking  she  crossed  the  room,  and,  care 
fully  guarding  against  unpleasant  contact  with  the 
furniture,  hastily  lit  the  candles  on  the  mantel. 

Ruth  arose  with  an  air  of  great  relief.  What  ter 
rible  load  had  been  removed !  What  cold  fingers 
had  released  their  clasp  upon  her  heart !  How  her 
knees  shook!  Suppose  she  had  given  this  promise, 
she  would  have  kept  it,  for  she  had  inherited  strong 
conscientious  scruples  from  her  Puritan  ancestors. 
A  promise  given  was  a  most  sacred  thing;  nothing 
but  death  would  have  broken  it.  What  a  fearful 
thought — waiting  for  death  to  release  one!  Ruth 
rose  and  crossed  the  room  to  step  out  upon  the  piazza 
and  watch  the  lights  come  out  one  by  one  in  the  vil 
lage — a  favorite  occupation  of  hers  at  nightfall.  As 
she  stood  there  in  the  intense  quiet  she  could  hear 
the  subdued  hum  of  voices  through  the  opened  win- 


70  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

dows  of  the  drawing-room,  and  once  she  thought 
she  distinguished  a  stifled  sob.  She  listened,  her 
head  inclined  forward,  and  heard  her  aunt  say,  in  a 
half- whisper,  with  a  sharp  intonation : 

"  It  was  unfair  to  the  child,  Mary.  'Thank  God  I 
was  here  in  time  to  prevent  her  making  that  prom 
ise!  Do  you  realize  what  you  are  doing?  Binding 
a  child  almost  on  the  very  threshold  of  her  life  by 
a  promise  which  you  know,  once  given,  she  would 
keep  at  any  cost." 

"  I  shall  not  live  long.  I  did  it  for  the  best, 
Jane.  I  love  her;  it  was  for  her  good." 

"  Nonsense!  it  was  to  gratify  your  desire  for  re 
venge.  No,  I  shall  not  spare  you.  I  am  your  best 
friend,  Mary  Lorrimer,  and  you  know  it.  I  shall 
not  stand  by  and  see  you  false  to  your  own  kind 
heart  and  your  common  sense." 

"  Hush!  she  will  hear  you,"  whispered  Mrs.  Lor 
rimer. 

Ruth  did  not  listen  further,  but  walked  over  the 
lawn  toward  the  water.  Surely  some  secret  lurked 
in  the  past  annals  of  the  old  house — some  secret 
that  affected  her — and — and  Captain  Hathaway. 
What  could  it  be?  The  mystery  was  known  to 


MRS.  LORRIMER'S  SUSPICIONS.  71 

Aunt  Jane,  her  grandmother,  and  Dr.  Goodyear — 
of  that  she  felt  assured. 

She  racked  her  mind  to  see  if  she  could  remember 
any  strange  events  connected  with  her  childhood. 
No,  all  seemed  clear  and  commonplace ;  she  could 
think  of  nothing.  No,  it  concerned  Captain  Hath 
away — of  that  she  was  convinced.  What  could  it 
be? 

Ruth  made  a  resolution,  as  she  stood  there  in  the 
darkness  of  the  starless  summer  night,  that  nothing 
but  crime,  or  his  own  wish  to  renounce  her,  would 
*  make  her  false  to  her  lover.  That  Captain  Hath 
away  loved  her  she  never  doubted  for  an  instant. 
That  he  was  good,  honest,  and  true  she  firmly  be 
lieved. 


CHAPTER   V. 

THE    LOVERS. 

JUNE  passed  by;  the  1st  of  July  had  come. 
Mrs.  Lorrimer  still  remained  feeble.  She  did  not 
again  allude  to  the  subject  so  earnestly  discussed 
with  Ruth  that  Sunday  afternoon ;  in  fact,  appeared 
rather  to  avoid  any  allusion  to  Captain  Hathaway 
or  his  possible  return  to  Lynnport.  This  silence, 
which  Ruth  divined  was  intentional,  hurt  her.  She, 
on  her  part,  became  reserved  and  shy,  avoiding  the 
mention  of  his  name.  The  very  reticence  she  felt 
impelled  to  preserve  only  tended  to  enhance  her  in 
terest  in  him,  and  her  thoughts,  turned  inward,  kept 
constantly  revolving  on  the  selfsame  topic.  What 
was  the  secret?  would  it  be  weighty  enough  to  sep 
arate  them?/  she  asked  herself  many  times.  She 
became  silent  and  preoccupied,  her  mind  filled  with 
dire  forebodings  of  the  possible  result  of  a  separa 
tion  between  herself  and  her  lover. 

Aunt  Jane  appeared  altered.  Her  rasping,  high- 
72 


THE   LOVERS.  73 

pitched  voice  took  on  more  tender  tones.  A  sort 
of  unspoken  sympathy  was  in  her  voice  when  she 
addressed  her  niece. 

Once  Ruth  thought  she  detected  tears  in  her 
aunt's  eyes  when  she  noticed  her  watching  her 
furtively,  though  perhaps  she  might  have  been 
mistaken,  as  Jane  declared,  with  asperity,  that 
"  this  everlasting  glare  from  the  sea  made  her  eyes 
water." 

It  was  the  5th  of  July.  Ruth  had  been  restless 
all  day.  The  heat  had  been  great,  and  she  had  been 
too  languid  to  work  among  her  flowers.  Toward 
afternoon,  as  the  sun  began  to  take  its  downward 
course,  leaving  one  side  of  the  highway  in  shadow, 
she  started  abruptly,  saying  she  would  go  to  the 
village  and  stop  at  old  Miss  Treadles's  for  some 
more  cotton  to  finish  knitting  her  antimacassar. 

"Child,  it  is  too  hot,"  said  Mrs.  Lorrimer,  feebly, 
from  her  chair  on  the  piazza. 

"  Do,  for  goodness*  sake,  Ruth,  quiet  yourself," 
exclaimed  Aunt  Jane.  "  I  never  saw  any  one  like 
you.  Anchor  yourself  somewhere,  as  Dr.  Good 
year  says." 

"I  am  going  to  the  village,"  said  Ruth,  decidedly, 
her  small  mouth  set  and  defiant. 


74  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

The  ladies  making  no  reply,  with  a  crisp  little 
good-by  she  walked  rapidly  down  the  avenue,  and 
was  soon  out  of  sight 

It  was  hot  on  the  highway,  and  very  dusty.  The 
yellow  loam  rose  in  flying  clouds  about  her  feet,  the 
air  appeared  vibrating  in  sultry  waves,  and  her  face 
grew  flushed  and  heated  under  the  wide  straw  hat. 
She  hurried  on.  Instead  of  stopping,  however,  at 
Miss  Treadles's  for  the  cotton  (a  little  shop  'near 
the  waterside),  she  climbed  the  steep  street  that  ran 
along  the  ridge  of  the  hill.  Pausing  before  a  low 
white  cottage  that  lay  back  some  distance  from  the 
upper  street,  she  laid  her  hand  upon  a  wooden  gate 
that  inclosed  a  diminutive  garden.  She  hesitated, 
thinking  intently.  Should  she  go  in  or  should  she 
return  home?  Her  hand  was  still  resting  on  the 
gate,  and  she  drew  her  foot  back  and  forth  irreso 
lutely  over  the  graveled  path.  The  street  was  very 
quiet ;  no  one  seemed  astir  in  the  front  of  the  houses 
that  at  intervals  lined  the  thoroughfare.  According 
to  the  custom  of  the  villagers  they  were  all  resting 
during  the  hot  hours  of  the  day  in  the  back  of  the 
houses,  the  shutters  being  closely  drawn  in  front. 

Ruth  had  almost  decided  to  give  up  her  intention 
of  entering  the  little  white  cottage  when,  suddenly 


THE   LOVERS.  75 

• 

raising  her  eyes,  she  beheld  far  off  on  the  horizon  a 
ship  scudding  onward  before  the  breeze.  She  con 
centrated  her  gaze  upon  the  on-coming  ship,  which 
was  growing  larger  and  whiter  every  instant,  its 
sails  unfurled  to  catch  every  bit  of  air  stirring.  The 
sunlight  was  gleaming  on  the  canvas,  making  it  look 
like  a  vast  shield  of  gold,  and  the  white  spray  rose 
high  as  the  bows  cut  sharply  through  the  blue  water. 

Ruth  stood  with  dilated  eyes  and  parted  lips.  "  It 
is — it  is — the  '  Bonny  Kate,'  "  she  said,. softly ;  and, 
going  quickly  up  the  narrow,  box-bordered  path 
of  the  little  garden,  she  lifted  the  brass  knocker 
on  the  door,  letting  it  fall  loudly.  A  grum 
bling  voice  was  heard  from  the  back  part  of  the 
house.  Presently  a  heavy  step  crossed  the  interior 
hallway,  and  the  door  was  quickly  opened.  In  the 
doorway  stood  Mrs.  Sarah  Munn,  in  a  short  calico 
gown  and  a  long  apron  that  hung  below  the  hem 
of  her  skirt.  On  her  head  she  had  a  wide-brimmed 
straw  hat  such  as  the  farmers  wore  in  the  field. 
The  perspiration  was  rolling  down  her  face,  and 
her  hands  were  covered  with  red  stains. 

"Well,  for  the  land's  sake,  Miss  Ruth!"  she  ex 
claimed.  "  Don't  tell  me  you  have  gone  and  walked 
all  the  way  from  the  homestead  this  bilin'  afternoon 


76  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

| 

— a  good  mile.  Come  right  in,  do.  Come  into  the 
settin'-room  and  I'll  call  Miss  Kate.  I  think  she's 
expectin'  the  Captain  some  this  afternoon;  he's 
about  due.  I'll  tell  you,  but  don't  say  anything: 
I  made  her  a  cup  of  strong  tea  and  got  her  to  lie 
down;  and  what  with  that  and  the  heat  she  fell 
asleep.  If  it  hadn't  'a'  been  for  that  I'd  never 
been  able  to  make  the  currants  jell  in  the  world. 
Why,  she'd  'a'  had  me  climbin'  the  stairs  every 
blessed  minit  to  the  garret  chamber,  to  see  if  the 
'  Bonny  Kate  '  was  in  sight." 

All  the  time  Mrs.  Munn  was  speaking  she  was 
ushering  in  her  visitor,  pushing  a  chair  forward, 
opening  shutters,  and  bustling  about  like  a  large 
and  very  noisy  fly. 

"  I  think  I  saw  the  Captain's  ship  east  of  the 
ledge  just  now,"  said  Ruth,  trying  to  speak  indif 
ferently. 

"For  the  land's  sake!  you  don't  say  so!"  said 
Mrs.  Munn,  craning  her  head  out  of  the  window. 
"  Why,  to  be  sure,  it  is,  and  they're  a-comin'  on 
flyin'.  Miss  Kate  will  be  happy,  poor  dear.  Why, 
he'll  be  here  in  less  than  an  hour.  I'm  nigh  dis 
tracted,  for  he'll  want  a  good  supper."  Mrs.  Munn 
suddenly  sprang  up.  "Would  you  mind  helpin' 


THE    LOVERS.  77 

Miss  Kate  to  dress?  What  with  them  heathenish 
currants,  and  the  supper  to  get,  I've  got  my  hands 
full.  And  now,  speakin'  of  currants  " — she  rested 
her  hands  on  her  hips  and  eyed  Ruth  earnestly — 
"  they're  the  most  unreliable  fruits  in  creation  to 
preserve.  If  they're  a  little  too  ripe  they  won't 
jell ;  if  they're  not  quite  ripe  enough  they  won't  jell. 
They're  just  like  some  o'  these  contrary  folks  as 
thinks  the  Lord  always  makes  the  days  too  hot  or 
too  cold — never  just  right — and  needs  them  to  help 
Him  set  the  creation  right." 

"  I  never  thought  of  currants  in  that  way," 
laughed  Ruth.  It  was  such  a  girlish,  ringing  laugh 
that  Mrs.  Munn  started. 

At  this  moment  a  sweet  voice  called  from  an 
upper  room : 

"  Mrs.  Munn,  I  see  the  '  Bonny  Kate '  coming. 
I  want  you." 

"I'm  a-comin',  Miss  Kate,  I'm  a-comin' ;  and 
here's  Miss  Ruth — she'll  help  you.  There's  a  lot 
of  work  in  the  kitchen.  You  know  the  Captain 
likes  a  masterful  lot  of  cookin'." 

Mrs.  Munn  was  calling  up  the  staircase.  Ruth 
had  hurried  on  before  her.  As  the  pleasant  greet 
ings  were  heard  coming  from  the  room  above,  Mrs. 


78  OFF   LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

Munn  listened  with  a  pleased  smile  on  her  shrewd 
face,  then  retreated  to  the  kitchen. 

"  I  declare,"  she  said,  as  she  attacked  the  refrac 
tory  jelly  with  renewed  vigor,  "  I  never  see  a  sweeter 
creature  than  Miss  Ruth.  Not  that  she  has  only  a 
pretty  face — she's  got  something  besides  that.  She's 
a  good  girl,  and  I  wish  the  Captain  would  cast  a 
glance  that  way.  But  for  the  land's  sake !  I  always 
used  to  say  to  the  departed  Munn,  a  man's  like  a 
mole :  he's  a-burrowin'  and  a-workin'  and  a-makin' 
the  dirt  .fly,  and  all  the  time  he  don't  know  where 
he's  goin',  and  that  his  greatest  blessin'  may  be 
right  under  his  nose.  I  can't  say  as  Munn  agreed 
with  me,  but  I  always  would  contend  that  point." 

As  this  soliloquy  ended  the  jelly  boiled  over,  and 
with  a  "  Drat  that  jelly!"  Mrs.  Munn  removed  the 
bubbling  preserve-kettle  to  the  back  of  the  stove. 

Kate  Hathaway  was  a  hunchback.  Her  head 
la)'  low  between  her  shoulders,  and  the  poor  little 
dwarfish  figure  was  no  larger  than  a  ten-year- 
old  child's.  Her  face  was  very  beautiful — beautiful 
with  the  spiritual  light  that  glowed  like  a  never- 
ending  gleam  in  her  dark,  deep-set  e'yes.  Around 
her  sweet,  sensitive  mouth  were  deep  lines,  made 
by  patient  silence  under  suffering. 


THE   LOVERS.  79 

Kate's  life  was  passed  very  near  the  border-land  ; 
so  near  that  the  peace  of  that  world  shed  its  gentle 
luster  over  this.  Perhaps  when  she  was  alone,  and 
the  pain  left  her  poor  racked  body,  shadowy  hands 
lifted  the  thin  veil,  and  she  saw  beyond  and  felt  in 
some  undefined  manner  the  reason  for  our  sorrows 
here.  When  friends  would  ask  her,  at  such  times, 
of  what  she  was  thinking,  she  would  say : 

"  I  was  dreaming ;  I  was  not  thinking.  And  very 
happy  dreams  they  were,  and  very  real  ones." 

Kate  could  walk  about  the  house,  but  she  could 
not  climb  the  steep,  hilly  streets  of  Lynnport;  so 
they  had  a  carriage  made  for  her,  and  she  was  quite 
a  familiar  figure  upon  the  streets  in  fine  weather, 
the  ever-faithful  and  loquacious  Mrs.  Munn  pushing 
the  vehicle,  jealously  guarding  this  task  from  any 
other  hand. 

Kate  was  very  fond  of  Ruth.  Sometimes  she 
had  thought  she  would  like  to  have  her  for  a  sister. 
She  had  always  observed  that  the  ladies  of  the 
homestead,  for  some  unaccountable  reason,  kept 
aloof,  and  of  late  had  thought  Ruth  altered.  In 
her  simple  nature  and  narrow  life  she  could  not 
fathom  any  reason  for  the  reticence  of  the  great 
ladies  of  the  town.  That  they  thought  themselves 


80  OFF    LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

above  her  she  never  dreamed.  She  was  a  Hatha 
way;  she  was  of  good  blood.  No,  it  must  be  be 
cause  she  was  so  ugly,  so  repulsive ;  and  poor  Kate 
wept  in  secret  many  tears.  She  always  made  Mrs. 
Munn  hurry  up  some  side  street  with  her  carriage 
if  she  saw  the  manor-house  ladies  approaching. 

When  she  greeted  Ruth  in  her  bright  little  sitting- 
room  that  afternoon  she  watched  her  closely.  Kate 
was  a  good  reader  of  character,  and  her  powers  of 
intuition,  probably  fostered  by  loneliness,  were  mar 
velous. 

Ruth  helped  her  dress  and  listened  to  her  excla 
mations  of  pleasure  at  the  prospect  of  having  her 
brother  with  her  till  September.  "Till  September! 
Is  it  hot  splendid?"  she  said.  "Three  months. 
•Ah,  then,  after  that — I  hate  to  think  of  it — I  may 
not  see  him  for  five  years.  There  are  to  be  changes 
in  the  Boston  firm,  and  the  course  of  the  '  Bonny 
Kate '  is  to  be  altered,  bringing  her  to  Boston  at 
longer  intervals." 

"  Five  years ! "  echoed  Ruth,  with  a  start.  "  That 
is  a  long  time." 

"  Yes,"  said  Kate,  giving  her  a  sharp  glance,  "  a 
long  time." 


THE    LOVERS.  8  I 

So  it  happened  that  when  the  Captain  entered 
the  cottage  parlor  Ruth  stood  by  the  window,  in 
the  shadow  of  the  vines  that  climbed  over  the  trellis 
outside.  At  the  neck  of  her  white  gown  she  had 
pinned  a  bunch  of  daisies  and  grasses  as  like  as  pos 
sible  to  a  bunch  of  withered  ones  lying  in  a  sandal- 
wood  box  at  home. 

The  Captain  crossed  the  tiny  parlor  quickly,  and, 
looking  down  into  her  face,  took  her  hand,  bent  his 
handsome  head,  and  kissed  her  red  lips. 

Kate  uttered  a  sharp  cry — a  cry  like  a  wounded 
animal.  It  was  the  first  time  in  her  life  that  her 
brother  had  passed  her  by.  He  had  not  seemed  to 
see  the  little  shrunken  form  as  she  sat  huddled  in  a 
chair,  with  her  long,  thin  hands  held  out  toward  him. 
Instead,  he  had  passed  by  without  a  word  or  a 
sign,  and  had  gone  straight  to  Ruth.  At  the  sharp 
ness  of  her  cry  he  turned,  his  hand  still  in  Ruth's. 
Drawing  her  with  him,  he  went  to  his  sister. 

"  Kate,"  he  said,  "  forgive  me.  It  was  the  only 
time  I  forgot  you  and  it  shall  be  the  last.  I  forget 
everything  at  sight  of  Ruth.  Have  you  not  guessed, 
with  your  discernment  ?  It  was  the  thought  of  Ruth 
that  brought  me  home  from  sea  a  year  earlier." 


82  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

Kate  did  not  speak  instantly.  Her  sensitive 
mouth  was  trembling ;  in  her  large  eyes  a  moisture 
had  gathered. 

"  It  is  all  right,  Jack,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice, 
"  and  as  it  should  be.  I  am  very  happy.  Come, 
little  sister.  I  have  always  wanted  a  sister,  and  God 
has  given  me  the  one  I  shall  love  best." 

There  was  a  great  deal  of  happiness  concentrated 
in  the  cottage  parlor  that  evening,  for  it  was  even 
ing  before  Ruth  began  to  appreciate  the  passing  of 
the  hours  and  the  probable  displeasure  at  her  pro 
longed  absence  from  the  homestead.  Mrs.  Munn 
had  brought  in  the  tempting  tea,  and  with  her 
shrewd  gaze  had  taken  in  the  situation :  Ruth's 
nearness  to  the  Captain,  his  arm  about  her  waist, 
and  her  dear,  adored  Miss  Kate  with  a  smile  on 
her  lips,  but  tears  in  her  eyes. 

Mrs.  Munn  had  changed  her  dress.  She  wore  a 
dark-brown  woolen  gown  and  a  white  apron.  On 
her  head  was  a  clean  cap  with  a  bunch  of  green 
lutestring  ribbons  resting  on  the  top,  a  little  to  one 
side,  which  gave  rather  a  rakish  appearance  to  her 
sober,  plain  countenance.  She  bustled  about  the 
table,  keeping  up  a  fire  of  running  comments  as  she 
rattled  the  dishes.  Mrs.  Munn  was  a  privileged 


THE    LOVERS.  83 

character.  She  could  say  what  she  liked,  but  was 
too  proud  to  ask  questions,  or  to  pry,  till  she  had 
been  informed  of  the  startling  piece  of  news  that 
had  befallen  the  family. 

The  Captain  understood  her  perfectly,  and  took 
a  quiet  amusement  in  keeping  her  in  a  state  of  ner 
vous  expectancy.  Presently  he  said,  looking  up 
pleasantly : 

"  Mrs.  Munn,  what  do  you  think  of  my  engaging 
a  new  mate  for  the  '  Bonny  Kate  '  ?  " 

"  Well,  sir,"  she  said,  refusing  to  be  told  in  this 
roundabout  manner,  "  if  you  need  a  new  mate  I 
should  say  get  one.  The  wharves  of  Lynnport  are 
full  of  idle  good-for-nothings  wearing  out  the  planks 
and  taking  in  the  sea-breeze  because  they  get  that 
free  and  don't  have  to  work  for  it." 

"  Come  now,  Mrs.  Munn,  you  understand  me ; 
here's  the  new  mate."  He  laid  his  hand  on  Ruth's 
shoulder.  "  The  best  mate  a  good  ship  ever  car 
ried,  God  bless  her!" 

Ruth  looked  up  and  laughed. 

"  But  I'm  not  going  to  sea,  Captain  Hathaway." 

"  Oh  yes,  you  are.  The  very  next  voyage  I  make 
from  Lynnport  you  must  report  on  deck  before  we 
leave  the  harbor's  mouth." 


84  OFF   LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

"  But— but—  " 

"  We'll  settle  that  later,"  said  the  Captain.  "Never 
argue  with  your  superior  officer.  I  wouldn't  want 
to  put  the  little  new  mate  in  irons." 

Mrs.  Munn  had  not  spoken.  She  stood  silently 
watching  them,  shaking  her  head  solemnly  from 
side  to  side.  She  held  some  knives  and  forks  in  her 
hand,  the  grease  from  them  dropping  on  the  carpet. 
She  did  not  notice  that.  Suddenly  she  said : 

"  Well,  well,  I'm  sure  I  wish  you  happiness  and  a 
long  life  together."  Her  words  were  accompanied 
by  such  a  deep-drawn  sigh  that  they  looked  up  in 
surprise. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Mrs.  Munn  ?  "  said  the  Cap 
tain,  much  amused.  "  Not  thinking  of  old  Munn, 
are  you?  " 

"  Yes,  that  is  just  what  I  was  thinking  of,  Cap 
tain.  Your  words  to  Miss  Ruth  are  the  very  words 
he  used  to  me.  '  You're  best  mate  now,  Sarah,'  he 
says,  and — and — ah  well,  he's  dead  and  gone,  and 
I'm  hopin'  they  ain't  too  hard  on  him  where  he's 
gone ;  but  he  was  a  crusty  man.  And  I  never  was 
first  mate  from  the  start;  I  was  never  promoted 
above  the  cook's  scullion.  I  always  says,  and  I 
will  contend,  that  marriage  is  a  tight  noose  around 


THE   LOVERS.  85 

the  neck,  and  the  more  one  struggles  the  tighter  it 
grows." 

"  But  every  one  is  not  like  old  Mr.  Munn,"  said 
Ruth. 

"  Ah  well,  Miss  Ruth,  there's  many  a  one  like 
Munn.  The  trouble  with  us  is  that  we  must  try  for 
ourselves;  and  the  Lord  have  mercy  on  us!"  She 
put  her  apron  to  her  eyes  with  the  hand  that  still 
held  the  knives  and  forks.  "  Don't  mind  me,"  she 
sniffled  :  "  I  always  cry  at  weddin's  and  smile  at  fu 
nerals.  The  minister  has  spoken  to  me  more  times 
than  once  about  it.  He  says  it's  onseemly,  but  I 
says  to  him,  '  That's  the  way  life  seems  to  me,  and 
it  seems  the  proper  thing  to  do.' ' 

"  We're  going  to  show  you  a  model  couple,"  said 
the  Captain.  "Cheer  up,  Mrs.  Munn;  don't  cry 
over  us." 

"  Well,  well,  I'm  sure  I  wish  you  all  luck,"  she 
replied.  "  As  for  cryin',  it  always  did  come  easier 
to  me  than  laughin'." 

The  sunset  lingered  long  that  warm  July  evening. 
At  last,  when  it  went  down  behind  the  hills,  a  great 
red  ball,  it  left  a  brilliant  twilight,  making  one  think 
of  the  tropics  and  far  eastern  lands.  A  yellow 
gleam  lingered  in  the  sky  till  dark. 


86  OFF    LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

Jack  and  Ruth  wandered  slowly  along  the  coun 
try  road  in  the  twilight  They  talked  softly,  in 
whispers.  In  some  vague  manner  the  beauty  and 
stillness  of  the  hour  made  their  happiness  more 
complete — no  jarring  discord  to  break  the  peace. 
They  were  living  only  in  the  present.  Why  should 
they  trouble  themselves  about  the  future?  Were 
they  not  together?  Did  they  not  love  each  other? 
Had  not  a  great  Power  above,  unseen  by  them,  sent 
this  love  into  their  hearts?  So  they  wandered  on 
through  the  pleasant  country  road,  past  fields  of 
clover  nearly  ready  for  the  sickle,  past  corn  just 
springing  up  in  long,  regular  lines  of  green.  A 
light  dew  was  on  the  wild-flowers  and  creepers  that 
straggled  over  the  stone  walls  that  lined  the  road, 
their  perfume  rilling  the  air  with  a  sweet,  spicy 
fragrance. 

Before  reaching  the  homestead  gates  they  paused 
a  moment,  and  leaned  upon  a  stone  wall  that  sepa 
rated  an  uncultivated  pasture-lot  from  the  sea.  The 
twilight  had  almost  deepened  into  night,  and  the 
beautiful  evening  star  appeared,  reigning  alone  in 
the  clear  sky.  Jack  looked  up  at  the  star. 

"  See,  Ruth,"  he  said.  "  How  often,  when  at 
sea,  I  have  watched  the  evening  star  and  thought 


THE    LOVERS.  87 

of  you !  I  cannot  tell  how  it  is ;  *  never  thought  I 
should  care  so  much  for  any  one.  As  a  boy  I  had 
a  strange  bringing-up.  My  father  was  a  cold,  silent 
man,  rarely  speaking  to  us ;  and  when  he  did,  it  was 
always  to  blame  us.  I  grew  morose ;  I  was  lonely. 
But  for  Kate  I  should  have  run  away  to  sea  before 
I  was  twelve  years  old."  He  paused  and  drew  his 
breath  hard.  "  Now  all  is  changed,"  he  continued. 
"  I  know  how  I  can  feel  and  love.  Ruth,  it  is  all 
centered  in  you.  If  anything  should  happen  to  part 
us  it  would  crush  the  very  life  and  heart  out  of 
me." 

Ruth  trembled  and  drew  closer  to  him. 

"  Are  you  cold?  "  he  said. 

"  Yes  ;  the  wind  is  coming  in  from  the  sea.  Noth 
ing  can  part  us,  Jack,"  she  whispered;  "nothing 
shall  part  us,  unless — unless — you  renounce  me." 

"  Renounce  you?  "  he  said,  quickly.  "  Nothing, 
Ruth,  shall  ever  make  me  do  that.  Why  should  I 
renounce  the  greatest  happiness  that  has  ever  come 
to  me?  " 

The  pasture-lot  near  which  they  were  standing 
was  entirely  devoid  of  trees.  In  the  clear  light 
that  lay  over  its  bare  surface  a  person  crossing  it 
could  be  distinctly  seen  by  any  one  in  the  road. 


88  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

Suddenly  a  tall  figure  stepped  abruptly  from  the 
overhanging  boughs  of  the  trees  that  grew  near  the 
north  side  of  the  homestead,  and  came  quickly  to 
ward  them.  As  the  figure  approached  they  saw  it 
was  Jane  Weston.  They  stood  still  and  waited  for 
her  to  come  up  to  them.  She  had  hurried  over  the 
rough  field,  hastening  her  steps,  almost  running,  as 
she  drew  nearer,  and  her  breath  was  short  when  she 
addressed  them. 

"  Ruth,  Ruth,"  she  cried,  "  where  have  you  been? 
Your  grandmother  is  ill  fretting  about  you.  I  have 
been  to  the  gate  at  least  twenty  times.  Do  you 
know  you  left  the  house  before  four  o'clock  this 
afternoon?  " 

"  Let  me  explain,"  said  Captain  Hathaway,  step 
ping  forward.  "  I  returned  from  Boston  this  after 
noon.  Ruth  was  at  my  sister's."  Jane  started  when 
he  said  "  Ruth."  "  We  urged  her  to  stay  and  drink 
tea  with  us.  I  brought  her  home."  He  paused  a 
moment,  then,  lifting  Ruth's  cold  little  hand  that 
hung  by  her  side,  said,  "  Miss  Weston,  Ruth  has 
promised  to  marry  me." 

Jane  did  not  speak.  She  swayed  forward  slightly 
and  clutched  at  the  stone  wall. 

"To  marry   you?"   she   said,  slowly.     "Surely 


THE    LOVERS.  89 

that  cannot  be.  You  scarcely  know  each  other; 
she  was  but  a  child  when  you  went  away.  No,  no, 
there  must  be  some  mistake." 

"  We  have  known  each  other  long  enough  to 
love  each  other,  Aunt  Jane.  I  have  given  him  my 
promise." 

Ruth  spoke  firmly.  She  drew  closer  to  Jack's 
side.  Jack  did  not  speak ;  he  was  watching  Jane's 
face  closely.  In  the  uncertain  light  it  looked  gray 
and  drawn. 

"  Captain  Hathaway,"  said  Jane,  slowly,  "  I  do 
not  know  what  to  say.  Perhaps  you  may  have 
noticed  that  my  manner  has  not  been  cordial  to  you 
heretofore.  I  had  reasons  for  my  conduct — good 
reasons.  I  wish  to  speak  plainly.  I  am  a  straight 
forward  woman,  and  I  find  it  always  the  better 
course  to  pursue." 

Jack  bowed,  but  did  not  reply. 

Miss  Weston  hesitated ;  she  appeared  to  be  think 
ing  intently.  It  was  very  still ;  no  vehicles  were 
passing.  Nothing  was  heard  except  the  soft  lap 
ping  of  the  surf  at  the  foot  of  the  pasture-lot  and 
the  whirring  hum  of  the  summer  insects.  Suddenly 
she  said : 

"  Captain  Hathaway,    my  sister,   Mrs.  Lorrimer, 


go  OFF   LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

and  I  have  grave  reasons  why  you  should  not  come 
to  the  homestead.  I  cannot  explain  these  reasons ; 
they  must  be  our  secret.  It  would  be  cruel  to  tell 
you.  In  the  most  pointed  manner  we  made  you 
feel  you  were  not  welcome  ;  still  you  persisted.  We 
cannot  blame  ourselves — we  did  our  best.  As  for 
marrying  Ruth,  that  is  utterly  impossible.  It  can 
not  be  ;  Mrs.  Lorrimer  would  never  consent.  Dearly 
as  she  loves  the  child  she  would  see  her  dead  first." 

In  the  gleam  that  fell  from  the  now  star-lighted 
sky  Ruth  saw  Captain  Hathaway  clench  and  un 
clench  his  strong  brown  hands,  and  the  cords  swell  in 
ridges  upon  his  forehead.  He  was  a  strong-willed 
man,  not  used  to  opposition. 

"  Then,  Miss  Weston,  I  understand  that  I  am  to 
give  up  Ruth  on  a  paltry,  insignificant  explanation 
— some  old  woman's  nonsensical  gossip.  No,  I  shall 
not  obey  your  wishes.  An  explanation  is  due 
Ruth  and  me,  without  which  I  shall  continue  in 
my  course." 

"It  is  no  gossip,"  said  Jane,  solemnly;  "it  is 
truth — sad,  sad  truth.  It  is  hard  for  you,  but  it 
must  be;  there  is  no  other  way." 

"  It  shall  not  be,"  he  said,  fiercely.  "  I  will  not 
give  hei  up.  She  is  mine ;  she  has  given  herself  to 


THE    LOVERS.  91 

me.  No  power  less  than  God's  above  shall  part 
us." 

Jane  started  as  if  struck  at  his  vehemence.  She 
had  not  bargained  upon  the  power  of  his  affection. 
She  bowed  her  head  as  though  in  tribute  to  his 
strength  and  courage.  He  was  a  brave  man ;  she 
admired  him  for  that. 

"  I  can  say  no  more,"  she  said,  sadly.  "  Come, 
Ruth,  let  us  go  home.  Say  good-night ;  it  is  grow 
ing  late." 

"  Good-night,  Jack,"  said  Ruth,  putting  both 
arms  about  his  neck  and  kissing  him.  "  It  will 
come  right.  Remember,  I  shall  always  be  true ; 
nothing  shall  change  me." 

He  watched  them  gloomily  as  they  crossed  the 
field  and  were  soon  lost  in  the  darkness  of  the  trees 
of  the  avenue.  "  What  bugbears  are  these  old 
women  conjuring  up?  "  he  muttered.  "  I  see  it  all; 
they  don't  wish  Ruth  to  go  to  sea.  The  selfishness 
of  age  is  wonderful.  They  have  had  their  day,  now 
they  wish  Ruth  to  be  sacrificed  for  their  comfort ; 
to  grow  old  wearing  her  life  away  dreaming  in  the 
manor,  waiting  on  them,  reading  to  them.  Bah ! 
she's  worth  a  better  life  than  that.  The  end  of  it 
will  be  I'll  have  to  run  away  with  her." 


CHAPTER   VI. 
DR.  GOODYEAR'S  OFFER  REJECTED. 

THE  morning  following  the  conversation  in  which 
Jane  Weston  had  given  her  ultimatum  in  regard  to 
Ruth's  betrothal,  Captain  Hathaway  made  his  way 
to  the  residence  of  Dr.  Goodyear.  It  was  early. 
No  one  was  astir  in  the  aristocratic  portion  of  the 
town,  though  down  below  the  hill,  near  the  water 
side,  could  be  heard  the  shrill  voices  of  the  fisher 
men's  wives,  as  they  bustled  in  and  out  of  their 
houses,  busy  at  the  morning's  work.  The  fleet  of 
fishing-vessels,  broad,  strong-ribbed  boats,  with 
their  square-trimmed  sails,  was  bobbing  about  in 
the  harbor.  The  lusty  shouts  of  "  Heave  ahoy, 
hey,  my  boys!"  interspersed  with  bits  of  stronger 
language  and  snatches  of  song,  rang  out  loudly  and 
at  intervals  on  the  still  morning  air. 

Captain  Hathaway  looked  grave  and  preoccupied. 
He  had  not  slept  well,  and  his  brilliant  blue  eyes  had 

92 


DR.  GOODYEAR'S  OFFER  REJECTED.        93 

lost  softie  of  their  habitual  sparkle.  He  switched 
with  a  stick  he  carried  in  his  hand  the  heads  of  the 
inoffensive  daisies  that  grew  along  the  walk.  At 
times  he  stopped  and  bit  his  lip  impatiently,  and 
gazed  in  a  meditative  manner  over  the  town  below, 
toward  the  "Bonny  Kate,"  where  she  rode  grace 
fully  on  the  tide,  the  sunlight  shining  on  her  glisten 
ing  sides. 

"  Dr.  Goodyear  knows  this  absurd  secret,  what 
ever  it  is,"  he  thought,  "  and  I'll  have  it  out  of  him. 
He's  known  the  family  since  his  boyhood,  and 
knows  all  about  them.  If  there's  anything  to  tell 
he's  the  man  to  tell  it." 

Dr.  Goodyear  was  an  early  riser.  When  the 
Captain  lifted  the  latch  of  the  garden  gate  the  doc 
tor  was  at  work  at  his  favorite  occupation,  that  of 
pruning  and  tending  his  roses.  The  doctor's  rose- 
garden  was  the  pride  and  pleasure  of  his  life,  and  in 
fact  it  was  the  pride  of  Lynnport.  A  more  beauti 
ful  spot  could  not  be  found  on  the  New  England 
coast  than  the  doctor's  rose-garden  in  the  last  two 
weeks  of  June  and  the  first  two  of  July.  Roses — 
roses  everywhere ;  white,  yellow,  red,  and  pink. 
And  the  doctor,  looking  not  unlike  a  very  much 
overblown  cabbage-rose  himself,  might  be  seen 


94  OFF    LYXXPORT    LIGHT. 

standing  during  many  of  his  spare  hours  among  his 
lovely  favorites. 

The  doctor  had  put  on  a  long  apron,  and  wore 
on  his  head  a  large-brimmed  hat.  He  was  standing 
on  a  chair,  endeavoring  to  tack  a  refractory  rose- 
vine  to  a  trellis. 

"  Good  morning,  Captain,"  he  shouted.  "  On 
deck  early,  hey?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Captain,  in  a  rather  depressed 
tone. 

The  doctor  started  at  the  sound  of  his  voice,  and, 
turning  with  his  mouth  full  of  tacks  and  a  hammer 
uplifted,  glanced  at  him  sharply. 

"What's  up,  Captain?  Want  medical  advice? 
Going  to  take  a  reef  in  your  sails,  hey?  " 

"  No,"  said  Jack,  moodily.  "  Get  down  from 
that  chair,  doctor.  I  wish  to  discuss  a  serious  mat 
ter  with  you ;  at  least  it  is  serious  to  me.  I  want 
your  close  attention." 

Dr.  Goodyear  stepped  down  from  the  chair, 
threw  off  his  apron,  and  stepping  up  to  the  Captain 
laid  his  hand  kindly  on  his  arm. 

"  Well,  what  is  it,  my  boy  ?  " 

"  It's  about  Ruth.  I  have  asked  her  to  marry 
me.  She  has  consented ;  but  the  old  people,  for 


DR.  GOODYEAR'S  OFFER  REJECTED.        95 

some  ridiculous  reason,  have  given  me  my  dis 
charge-papers — shipped  me  off  without  a  word  of 
explanation,  except  some  bosh  about  a  secret  they 
couldn't  tell.  You  know  all  about  the  manor  folks; 
I  want  you  to  tell  me  what  you  know." 

The  doctor  looked  grave ;  his  jolly  red  face  took 
on  a  serious  aspect,  and  he  gazed  down  sadly. 

"  Well,  Jack,  according  to  their  views  they  are 
acting  right.  I  do  not  agree  with  them,  but  it  is 
not  mybusiness  to  interfere.  I  know  this  secret  to 
which  they  allude,  though  I  am  not  at  liberty  to 
speak  of  it.  I  have  never  spoken  of  it  to  any  one 
since  the  sad  occurrence  many  years  ago.  My  ad 
vice  to  you  would  be,  give  up  Ruth  Lorrimer,  turn 
the  bows  of  the  '  Bonny  Kate  '  toward  sea,  and  in 
five  years'  time,  when  you  return  to  Lynnport,  the 
wound  will  have  healed.  I'm  a  medical  man;  I 
know  all  about  wounds;  trust  me." 

"  I  shall  not  give  her  up,"  cried  Jack,  vehemently. 
"  By  Heaven,  I'll  marry  her  if  I  have  to  run  away 
with  her." 

"  Hush  !  "  said  Dr.  Goodyear.  "  Don't  say  that ; 
it  would  kill  the  old  lady.  Let  me  tell  you,  Captain, 
her  heart  is  a  weak  one ;  one  hard  blow  and — well, 
she'd  be  out  of  it  all." 


96  OFF   LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

Jack  did  not  heed  these  words.  His  eyes  flashed 
with  anger. 

"  Am  I  to  give  up  the  greatest  happiness  that 
has  ever  come  into  my  life — give  it  up  for  some 
paltry  whim?  I  tell  you,  doctor,  I'm  not  the  man 
to  do  that.  I  will  know  this  accursed  secret.  If 
Ruth  is  smirched  by  its  telling  I'll  marry  her  the 
sooner,  and  love  and  protect  her."  There  were 
tears  in  the  Captain's  eyes,  and  his  voice  trembled 
as  he  ceased  speaking. 

"  There  is  nothing  against  Ruth ;  set  your  mind 
at  rest  on  that  point." 

"  What  is  it,  then  ?  Tell  me.  Can  you  not  see 
what  this  suspense  is  costing  me?" 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,  Jack.  God  knows,  I  am 
sorry.  You  are  a  brave  fellow,  and  I  like  you. 
Fate  is  against  you,  my  boy.  I  cannot  help  you." 

Jack  went  back  to  his  sister's.  After  some  mo 
ments  of  irresolution  his  plans  were  made.  He 
would  see  Mrs.  Lorrimer — force  his  presence  upon 
her — and  compel  her  to  speak;  then  declare  he 
would  marry  Ruth  with  or  without  her  grand 
mother's  consent.  He  would  not  go  to  the  home 
stead  till  afternoon,  needing  some  hours  to  steady 
his  nerves  for  the  interview. 


DR.  GOODYEAR'S  OFFER  REJECTED.        97 

About  eleven  o'clock  of  the  same  day,  Jane  Wes- 
ton,  with  Tetsy  at  her  heels,  entered  Dr.  Goodyear's 
rose-garden.  The  doctor  was  not  at  home — out 
seeing  patients,  she  was  informed  by  his  house 
keeper.  She  waited  impatiently  in  the  summer- 
house  in  the  garden,  with  Tetsy  dozing  at  her  feet, 
Poor  Jane!  she  had  scarcely  slept  all  night.  Her 
long,  thin  face  wore  a  mournful  expression;  even 
the  proud  and  towering  head-dress  took  part  in  the 
general  crestfallen  appearance.  Tetsy  for  once  was 
forgotten.  Two  or  three  times  she  accidentally 
kicked  him  as  she  moved  her  feet  restlessly;  but 
his  menacing  grumble  quickly  brought  her  to  her 
senses,  and  she  carefully  moved  her  chair  back. 

At  twelve  o'clock  sharp  the  doctor  came  home. 
Upon  seeing  his  visitor  in  the  arbor  he  rushed  pre 
cipitately  toward  her,  with  hands  outstretched  and 
his  face  beaming. 

"  Well,  Miss  Weston,"  he  said,  "  this  is  a  pleasure 
and  an  honor — a  great  honor.  Do  you  know,  it  is 
thirty  years  since  you  have  been  inside  my  garden 
gates — thirty  years?" 

"  Is  it  so  long?  "  she  said,  sharply.  "  Well,  what 
is  the  use  of  reminding  me  of  it?  I  am  not  so  fond 
of  being  told  I  am  growing  old." 


98  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

"  Oh  no,  no — certainly  not.  I  did  not  mean 
that.  You  take  one  up  so  quickly,  Miss  Weston." 

"  You  say  strange  things,  Dr.  Goodyear.  I  came 
here  to-day  to  ask  you  to  tell  Captain  Hathaway 
why  he  cannot  marry  Ruth."  The  doctor  gazed 
at  her  in  open-mouthed  amazement,  then  closed  his 
mouth  grimly  and  puckered  up  his  forehead.  "  You 
know  the  whole  story,"  she  continued.  "There  is 
no  use  of  being  particular  about  the  details ;  tell 
him  all." 

"  But — but — Miss  Weston,"  stammered  the  doc 
tor,  "I— I—" 

"  There  is  no  but  about  it,"  interrupted  Jane. 
"  You  must  tell  it.  I  cannot  go  over  the  miserable 
affair,  and  Mary  is  too  weak ;  it  would  kill  her  even 
to  see  him.  There  is  no  other  alternative.  You 
are  the  man  to  do  it,  and  I  have  decided  you  shall." 
She  gave  him  a  commanding  glance. 

The  doctor  gazed  at  her  earnestly  for  a  moment, 
a  crafty  gleam  in  his  eyes,  then  straightened  up  his 
stout  figure,  put  one  hand  in  his  vest-pocket,  and 
walked  in  a  slow,  dignified  manner  up  and  down  the 
rose-bordered  path  before  the  arbor.  Occasionally 
he  balanced  himself  on  his  toes  and  pursed  up  his 
mouth  in  a  thoughtful  manner.  Presently  he  paused 


UK.  GOODYEAR'S  OFFER  REJECTED.        99 

before  Jane,  who  was  watching  him  uneasily,  this 
dignity  and  decision  of  character  being  at  variance 
with  his  hitherto  abject  obedience,  almost  amount 
ing  to  slavishness,  in  his  dealings  with  her. 

"Jane  Weston,"  he  said,  clearing  his  voice  in  a 
most  impressive  manner,  "  I  have  asked  you  to 
marry  me  twenty-nine  times — once  every  year  for 
twenty-nine  years.  Now  of  your  own  accord  you 
have  come  to  me,  just  as  I  was  about  thinking  of 
asking  you  for  the  thirtieth  time.  If  you  will  marry 
me  I  will  do  what  you  wish :  I  will  blast  this  young 
man's  hopes,  get  hated  by  him  in  the  bargain,  ruin 
poor  Ruth's  happiness,  and  feel  myself  the  biggest 
brute  on  earth.  What  do  you  say,  Jane?  " 

Jane  had  risen  with  her  most  majestic  air;  and 
Tetsy  had  also  risen,  and  was  watching  the  doctor's 
fat  legs  with  a  sinister  gleam  in  his  eyes  and  a  sus 
picious  twitching  of  his  jaws. 

"  I  say  this,  Dr.  Goodyear :  that  you  have  taken 
advantage  of  me,  trying  to  force  a  promise  on  such 
terms,  when  we  are  in  dire  straits.  I  am  surprised 
and  pained.  For  the  thirtieth  time  I  say  no." 

"  Very  well.  Miss  Jane,  very  well,  have  it  your 
own  way ;  only  don't  say  I  am  not  patient  and  long- 
suffering.  I'll  never  give  up  trying  this  side  of  Jor- 


100  OFF    LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

dan ;  and,  if  you  don't  yield,  the  good  book  tells  us 
that  there  is  plenty  of  time  to  work  on  the  other 
side  of  the  river." 

"  You  are  growing  profane,  Dr.  Goodyear.  The 
good  book  says  there  shall  be  no  marriage  nor  giv 
ing  in  marriage  there.  I  shall  not  listen  to  you." 

Upon  reaching  the  gate  she  turned. 

"  So  you  will  not  do  this  for  me  ?  "  she  said,  sadly. 
"  I  do  not  ask  many  favors  of  you." 

"  I  will  do  it  on  those  terms — none  other,"  said 
the  doctor,  firmly. 

She  twitched  her  shoulders  angrily  and  passed 
through  the  gate,  the  doctor  holding  it  open  as  she 
passed  through.  At  the  same  instant  a  most  blood 
curdling  howl  was  heard  from  Tetsy,  whom,  whether 
by  accident  or  design,  the  doctor  had  shut  in  the 
gate. 

The  doctor  looked  extremely  innocent  and  sym 
pathetic  when  Jane  lifted  her  pet ;  but  giving  him 
a  severe,  reprimanding  glance,  she  marched  off  like 
a  grenadier  down  the  hill.  After  she  had  disap 
peared,  the  doctor  stood  for  a  long  time  among  his 
roses,  pruning  here  and  clipping  there.  Finally  he 
gathered  a  handful  of  blown  leaves  for  the  potpourri 
in  the  parlor. 


DR.  GOODYEAR'S  OFFER  REJECTED.       101 

"Jane  Weston  is  a  fine  woman,"  he  said  to  him 
self.  "  Much  as  I  would  like  to  have  her,  and  as 
long  as  I  have  waited,  it  would  have  come  pretty 
hard  to  break  up  Ruth's  happiness,  poor  girl.  Yet 
I  would  have  done  it  if  Jane  had  said  the  word. 
Not  she,  though ;  she's  stuck  it  out  all  these  years. 
I  suppose  now  we're  pretty  old  hulls  to  be  sailing 
into  the  sea  of  matrimony.  By  Heaven!  I  can't 
help  it."  He  brought  his  hand  down  heavily  upon 
the  back  of  a  rustic  garden  seat.  "  Jane  Weston 
always  was,  and  always  will  be,  the  only  woman  in 
the  world  for  me." 

The  doctor  stayed  home  the  rest  of  the  day,  and 
from  his  den  at  the  top  of  the  house,  which  con 
tained  a  telescope  pointed  always  seaward,  detected 
Captain  Hathaway,  toward  afternoon,  going  along 
the  highway  that  skirted  the  sea,  in  the  direction 
of  the  Lorrimer  place.  He  was  going  at  a  swinging 
pace,  and  the  doctor  conjectured,  as  he  watched 
him  till  he  disappeared  from  sight,  that  a  crisis  was 
approaching.  Going  to  the  top  of  the  stairs  he 
called  loudly  to  the  old,  partially  deaf  housekeeper : 
"  Tell  John  to  put  the  mare  in  the  traces  and 
have  the  gig  ready  at  a  moment's  notice."  Then 
he  went  back  to  the  window  and  looked  out  ear- 


IO2  OFF   LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

nestly,  not  removing  his  gaze  often  from  the  high 
way. 

Dr.  Goodyear  was  an  earnest,  thoughtful  man  in 
spite  of  his  outward  exuberance  of  spirits.  He  was 
a  man  possessed  of  keen  insight  into  human  nature, 
and  was  blessed,  or  burdened,  as  some  might  inter 
pret  it,  with  a  very  tender  heart.  Though  his  ex 
perience  had  not  been  great  in  some  respects,  hav 
ing  rarely  traveled  beyond  the  confines  of  Lynnport, 
still  he  had  sufficient  field  for  study  in  the  little 
town,  tragedies  and  comedies  being  played  before 
his  eyes  many  times  through  the  passing  years. 
He  had  been  one  of  the  actors  that  figured  years 
before  in  the  sad  story  that  had  taken  place  at  the 
homestead.  He  was  thinking  of  it  now,  as  he 
watched  the  highroad,  wondering  what  the  end 
would  be.  As  for  himself,  time  had  cut  down  the 
sharp  edges  and  thrown  a  mellow  light  over  the 
dark  places.  He  knew  the  ladies  did  not  think  as 
he  did ;  yet  in  dwelling  on  the  past  they  only  in 
creased  its  dreary  importance. 

To  drag  Ruth's  happy  girlhood  into  their  griefs 
was  wrong  and  selfish.  Why  not  let  her  have  her 
happiness  and  be  silent?  What  good  could  it  do 
them  to  shatter  her  idol  and  show  her  the  dark, 


DR.  GOOD  YEAR'S  OFFER  REJECTED.       103 

tempestuous  side  of  life?  The  story  was  forgotten 
in  Lynnport ;  in  fact,  it  had  never  rightly  been 
understood  there,  the  details,  jealously  guarded, 
never  reaching  the  ears  of  the  gossips.  It  had  hap 
pened  so  many  years  ago  that  most  of  the  persons 
connected  with  it  were  dead.  The  doctor  pondered 
and  waited  in  his  den,  looking  out  moodily  from  his 
dormer-window. 

Captain  Hathaway  had  given  much  thought  to 
his  intended  resolution.  His  nerves  were  steady 
and  he  was  in  complete  control  of  himself  as  he 
walked  up  the  avenue  of  elms  to  the  old  manor- 
house. 

Miss  Weston  was  not  at  home — she  had  not  re 
turned  from  Lynnport,  the  maid  said  at  the  door. 
Mrs.  Lorrimer  was  at  home  and  in  the  north  draw 
ing-room.  The  girl  hesitated.  "  She  is  not  well, 
and  I  do  not  think  she  will  see  you." 

"  She  will  see  me,"  the  Captain  said,  decidedly, 
removing  his  hat. 

The  girl  stepped  aside,  a  little  frightened  at  his 
tone,  and  he  crossed  the  wide  hall.  The  door  of 
the  drawing-room  was  ajar,  the  windows  overlook 
ing  the  sea  were  open,  and  he  felt  the  breeze  on 
his  face  as  he  entered  the  room. 


IO4  OFF   LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

Seated  in  a  high-backed  chair,  her  head  resting 
wearily  against  its  cushions,  was  Mrs.  Lorrimer. 
She  was  either  dozing  or  thinking  intently ;  her 
eyes  were  closed  and  the  exquisite  lines  of  her  face 
were  in  repose,  while  the  soft  white  puffs  of  hair 
threw  a  shadow  upon  her  brow.  A  white  embroi 
dered  shawl  was  draped  about  her  shoulders  and  fas 
tened  at  the  neck  by  a  pin  of  brilliants.  Ov'er  her 
hands  fell  folds  of  delicate  lace,  and  the  rich  silk 
gown,  falling  gracefully  about  her,  verily  suggested 
a  grand  dame  of  a  past  age. 

Captain  Hathaway  hesitated  in  the  doorway  and 
watched  her  covertly  an  instant.  He  knew  she  had 
not  heard  him.  He  was  only  a  plain  seafaring  man 
after  all,  and  a  barrier  appeared  to  loom  up  between 
him  and  her.  She  was  of  the  old  decade,  he  of  the 
new.  He  recognized  the  exquisite  refinement,  the 
gentle  dignity,  and  it  impressed  him.  He  turned 
his  gaze  upon  the  long  line  of  pompous  ancestors 
on  the  wall,  with  their  simpering  ladies,  much  be- 
wigged  and  beruffled,  beside  them,  then  at  the  great 
fireplace  with  its  Dutch  scriptural  tiles.  Set  in  the 
cornices  of  the  mantel  he  saw  two  portraits  that 
made  him  start,  they  appeared  so  lifelike.  Evidently, 
judging  from  the  places  of  honor  they  occupied  in 


DR.  GOODVEAR'S  OFFER  REJECTED.       105 

the  room,  they  represented  the  parents  of  the  pres 
ent  owners.  He  could  trace  a  likeness  in  the  hand 
some  patrician  face  of  the  pictured  officer  in  his 
continental  uniform,  the  haughty  poise  of  his  head, 
and  the  proud  curve  of  the  mobile  mouth,  to  the  old 
lady  in  the  chair  by  the  window.  Yes,  there  was 
the  same  pride,  the  same  will.  He  stepped  forward 
and  stood  by  her  side. 

Mrs.  Lorrimer  turned  quickly,  and  with  eyes 
slowly  dilating  looked  at  him.  Her  face  grew 
white,  her  slender  hands  clutched  the  arms  of  her 
chair,  and  an  unearthly  glow  lit  up  her  features. 

"  Jack,"  she  said,  hoarsely,  "  Jack,  have  you  come 
back  from  the  grave  to  make  all  right  again  ?  "  She 
rose  partly  in  her  chair  and  swayed  slightly  toward 
him,  her  lips  parted  and  her  hands  dropped  by  her 
side. 

Captain  Hathaway  was  dumbfounded.  He  caught 
her  in  his  arms,  placed  her  gently  back  in  the  chair, 
and  stood  watching  her  solicitously. 

"  Mrs.  Lorrimer,"  he  said,  presently,  "  I  startled 
you;  forgive  me.  I  am  Captain  Hathaway,  captain 
of  the  '  Bonny  Kate,'  that  plies  between  Boston  and 
China.  You  have  heard  Ruth  speak  of  me." 

Mrs.  Lorrimer's  startled  features  slowly  relaxed ; 


IO6  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

then,  taking  on  a  stony  rigidity,  she  straightened 
herself,  and,  looking  the  young  man  unflinchingly  in 
the  face,  said : 

"  How  did  you  enter  my  house?  I  have  given 
orders  you  were  not  to  be  admitted." 

"  I  felt  my  right,  Mrs.  Lorrimer.  I  love  your 
granddaughter  and  she  has  promised  to  marry  me. 
Miss  Weston  has  told  me  you  would  never  consent. 
I  deemed  it  but  common  justice  that  you  should 
give  me  an  explanation.  My  past  life  is  clear ;  you 
can  read  it.  I  can  take  care  of  a  wife ;  the  '  Bonny 
Kate '  pays  well.  I  have  spoken  plainly.  I  am  a 
plain  seaman,  Mrs.  Lorrimer,  and  we  sailors  are 
blunt  spokesmen." 

Mrs.  Lorrimer  did  not  speak  for  some  moments ; 
her  face  had  grown  ghastly  and  her  heart  was  beat 
ing  rapidly.  Presently  she  said  : 

"  I  would  rather  bury  Ruth  than  give  her  to  you. 
I  will  never  consent  to  your  marriage  with  her — 
never,  never!"  She  almost  screamed,  so  shrill  had 
her  voice  grown.  "  My  reasons  are  grave  ones.  If 
Ruth  understood  them  she  would  agree  with  me." 

"  You  will  not  explain  the  reasons  for  your  oppo 
sition,  then?  "  said  the  Captain.  He  was  still  stand 
ing  erect  and  firm,  looking  every  whit  as  proud  and 


DR.  GOODYEAR'S  OFFER  REJECTED.       107 

handsome  as  the  picture  of  the  continental  officer  in 
the  mantel  cornice. 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Lorrimer,  "  I  will  not.  The 
reasons  do  not  prove  a  lawful  barrier.  You  might 
overstep  them  in  your  headstrong  desire  to  marry 
Ruth.  They  are  strong  enough  in  my  eyes,  and  it 
is  my  will  that  you  shall  renounce  her." 

"  I  will  not  renounce  her,"  he  said,  quietly.  "  I 
shall  marry  her.  You  have  no  right  to  step  be 
tween  us ;  your  reasons  are  nothing  to  me.  Unless 
I  receive  dismissal  from  her  own  lips  she  shall  be 
my  wife  before  the  summer  is  over." 

Mrs.  Lorrimer  had  now  risen ;  her  costly  brocade 
was  streaming  over  the  polished  floor.  She  stood 
tall  and  straight,  one  jeweled  hand  held  out  before 
her ;  with  her  forefinger  she  pointed  directly  toward 
Captain  Hathaway. 

"  If  you  marry  her,"  she  said,  "  I  shall  never  for 
give  her.  The  day  she  is  your  wife  I  shall  know 
her  no  more." 

The  quiet  decision  of  her  voice  impressed  Cap 
tain  Hathaway.  He  knew  she  meant  every  word 
she  uttered ;  it  was  no  idle  threat. 

"  So  be  it,"  he  said.  "  If  God  so  ordains  it  that 
her  own  cast  her  out  she  shall  find  a  protector  for 


IO8  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

all  time  in  me."  His  voice  was  solemn.  He  stepped 
toward  the  door,  hat  in  hand.  When  on  the  thresh 
old  he  looked  back.  A  line  of  yellow  sunlight  had 
fallen  over  Mrs.  Lorrimer's  face,  and  touched  the 
brilliants  at  her  throat.  It  served,  however,  only 
to  bring  the  ghastliness  of  her  features  into  plainer 
relief.  She  was  watching  her  visitor  intently  with 
her  bright  dark  eyes,  her  hand  still  held  out  before 
her. 

"  Take  her,  then,  Captain  Hathaway,"  she  said, 
"  and  take  an  injured  woman's  curse  with  her." 

"  No,  no,  Mrs.  Lorrimer,  do  not  say  that,"  he  ex 
claimed.  "Take  back  those  words."  He  looked 
wistfully  toward  her. 

"  I  shall  say  no  more,"  she  replied ;  "  I  have  fin 
ished." 

He  left  her  standing  in  the  glow  of  yellow  sun 
light,  her  tall,  erect  figure  looking  as  stately  and  de 
fiant  as  the  pictured  company  upon  the  wall.  When 
Captain  Hathaway  gave  her  a  last  glance  as  he  still 
hesitated  upon  the  threshold,  impelled  by  some 
motive  he  looked  above  her  head,  where  the  eyes 
of  the  continental  officer  seemed  to  be  watching  the 
two  antagonists,  measuring  their  strength  as  they 
faced  each  other.  Was  it  fancy,  or  the  result  of 


DR.  GOODYEAR'S  OFFER  REJECTED.       109 

vibrating  waves  of  air  in  the  long,  drafty  apartment? 
The  placid  features  of  the  picture  seemed  to  lengthen 
out,  grow  grim  and  stern,  and  a  malicious  gleam  ap 
peared  to  settle  in  the  eyes,  while  above  the  heart 
a  dull-red  glow  like  blood  flickered  a  moment,  then 
passed  away.  Jack  knew  it  was  only  the  reflection 
from  a  red-glass  vase  the  sunlight  had  touched 
upon  the  table ;  yet  a  coldness  crept  over  him,  a 
trembling  of  the  limbs  seized  him.  Sailors  are 
naturally  superstitious. 

When  he  passed  from  the  subdued  gloom  of  the 
drawing-room  and  stood  without,  in  the  warm, 
bright  sunlight  on  the  piazza,  he  felt  chilled,  and 
wiped  the  drops  of  cold  perspiration  from  his  fore 
head.  As  he  left  the  gates  at  the  entrance  of  the 
place  he  passed  Jane  Weston,  who  did  not  address 
him,  but  gave  him  an  alarmed  glance  and  hastened 
on.  When  she  reached  the  house  she  hurried  to 
Mrs.  Lorrimer  and  found  her  lying  white  and  still 
upon  the  floor  of  the  drawing-room,  beneath  the 
picture  of  the  officer  in  the  cornice.  She  leaned 
over  her  and  raised  her  in  her  arms. 

"  Mary,  Mary,"  she  called  ;  and  her  cries  alarmed 
the  household.  Later,  when  Dr.  Goodyear  came 
rushing  in  his  antique  gig  down  the  highway,  and 


HO  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

hurried  to  the  homestead,  Mrs.  Lorrimer  was  lying 
in  her  own  room,  Ruth  and  Jane  weeping  over  her. 
She  had  spoken  once,  but  her  speech  was  so  broken 
and  incoherent  that  they  did  not  understand  her. 
Then  she  had  relapsed  into  unconsciousness.  Dr. 
Goodyear  said  little.  He  was  very  grave. 

"  It  is  a  heart-seizure,  Miss  Weston,"  he  said,  as 
he  was  getting  into  his  gig.  "  Remember,  I  warned 
you.  Watch  her." 

Jane  spoke  impetuously  and  angrily : 

"  I  have  watched  her,  goodness  knows.  That 
wretched  young  man  was  here  again,  and  forced 
himself  upon  her — just  walked  by  the  maid  and 
went  into  the  drawing-room.  If  you  had  done 
what  I  asked  you  this  morning  this  would  not  have 
happened;  he  would  not  have  come  here  again." 

"  If  you  had  done  what  I  asked  you  this  morning 
I  would  be  a  happy  man  this  very  minute." 

"  What  utter  folly !  Haven't  I  told  you  for  thirty 
years  that  the  Widow  Grims,  on  the  old  post-road, 
would  make  you  a  good  wife,  and  a  suitable  one 
too?  You  are  a  most  obstinate  man." 

"  And  haven't  I  told  you  for  thirty  years  that 
Dr.  Ezekiel  Goodyear,  of  Lynnport,  would  make 
you  a  good  husband,  and  a  suitable  one  too?  " 


DR.  GOODYEAR'S  OFFER  REJECTED.       in 

"  Good  afternoon,  doctor,"  she  snapped,  shortly. 
"  Shall  I  give  Mary  the  drops  every  twenty  min 
utes?  " 

Jane  gathered  up  her  scant  skirts  and  walked 
sedately  up  the  steps  of  the  piazza.  The  doctor 
looked  after  her  a  moment  with  an  amused  smile, 
then,  taking  the  reins  in  his  hands,  went  at  a  brisk 
trot  down  the  avenue. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

THE   CAPTAIN   INTERVIEWS    MRS.  MUNN. 

WHEN  Captain  Hathaway  reached  the  principal 
street  of  the  town  he  was  in  a  condition  of  exhaus 
tion  from  the  effects  of  his  rapid  walk  and  the  scene 
of  excitement  through  which  he  had  passed.  His 
dark  hair  was  wet  with  moisture  and  clung  to  his 
forehead,  his  bronzed  cheeks  were  pale,  and  his  tall 
figure  drooped  forward  listlessly.  Passing  slowly 
along  the  village  street  in  her  wheeled  chair  sat 
Kate,  propelled  by  her  faithful  companion,  who  was 
jealously  looking  out  that  no  stone  obtruded  its 
discomforting  presence  between  the  wheels  and  the 
pavement.  The  Captain  saw  them  from  a  distance, 
and  surmised,  from  the  constant  bobbing  forward 
of  Mrs.  Munn's  head,  and  her  backward  glances  at 
the  passers-by,  that  she  was  making  comments  upon 
the  neighbors  while  she  pushed  her  charge  along. 
The  Captain  slackened  his  pace  as  he  joined  them, 


THE   CAPTAIN    INTERVIEWS    MRS.  MUNN.    113 

and,  taking  the  handle  of  the  chair  from  Mrs.  Munn's 
grasp,  said  he  would  wheel  Kate  up  the  steep  hills. 
It  was  growing  late,  and  it  was  time  she  returned 
to  the  cottage. 

Kate  could  not  see  his  face  as  he  stood  at  the 
back  of  her  chair.  Mrs.  Munn  did,  however ;  noth 
ing  escaped  her  keen  glance.  She  knew  something 
had  happened ;  it  must  be  about  Miss  Ruth.  She 
would  bide  her  time ;  they  would  tell  her  before 
long.  She  walked  stoically  after  them,  her  grim 
face  set,  her  firm  tread  coming  down  heavy  and 
loud  upon  the  walk.  When  they  entered  the  cot 
tage  parlor  Jack  came  and  stood  by  his  sister,  and 
looking  down  upon  her  said  : 

"  Kate,  things  are  going  hard  with  Ruth  and  me. 
The  old  people  have  refused  their  consent,  and 
they  mean  it ;  it  is  not  idle  talk.  Our  hopes  are 
crushed,  confound  their  obstinacy!"  He  seated 
himself  impatiently  and  rapped  nervously  on  the 
arms  of  his  chair. 

"But  why?"  said  Kate,  anxiously.  "What  are 
their  reasons?  " 

At  this  point  of  the  conversation  Mrs.  Munn  rose 
to  leave  the  room.  The  Captain  called  her  back. 

"  Don't  go,  Mrs.  Munn,"  he  said.     "  You  are  a 


114  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

good  friend;  perhaps  you  can  give  me  some  ad 
vice." 

Mrs.  Munn  sat  down  in  a  stiff-backed  chair. 
Folding  her  hands  in  her  lap,  she  drew  her  face 
down  to  the  regulation  mournful  expression  which 
she  considered  the  occasion  required. 

"  You  asked  me  Mrs.  Lorrimer's  reasons,  Kate. 
It  seems  they  are  so  serious  that  she  would  rather 
Ruth  were  dead  than  give  her  to  me.  Further  she 
will  not  say.  I  cannot  give  her  up,  Kate ;  you  must 
know  that.  She  has  promised  to  marry  me.  What 
nonsensical  yarn  can  those  two  old  women  have 
conjured?  " 

"  You  must  not  be  rash,  Jack ;  perhaps  Mrs.  Lor- 
rimer  will  relent." 

"No,"  said  Jack,  decidedly,  "she  never  will;  I 
am  fully  convinced  of  that.  Kate,  you  should  have 
seen  the  old  lady.  She  frightened  me,  she  looked 
so  pale  and  fierce." 

At  these  words  a  contemptuous  sniff  from  Mrs. 
Munn  caused  him  to  look  in  her  direction.  She  was 
sitting  bolt  upright,  her  angular  figure  had  struck  an 
angry  and  defiant  attitude,  and  one  large,  gaitered 
foot  was  tapping  the  floor  with  systematic  treads. 

'  Those  ladies  at  the  homestead  are  a  proud  lot," 


THE    CAPTAIN    INTERVIEWS    MRS.   MUNN.     11$ 

she  said.  "  They  think  you  are  not  good  enough, 
Captain,  for  Miss  Ruth.  Mrs.  Lorrimer  has  had  the 
courage  to  fly  in  the  face  of  Providence.  Did  she 
say  she  would  rather  see  that  pretty  creature  dead 
than  married  to  you  ?  The  Lord  will  lay  his  hand 
hard  on  her  some  day,  Captain  Hathaway — hard 
and  long." 

The  Captain  stared  at  her  gloomily.  "  That 
won't  help  us  now,  Mrs.  Munn,"  he  said,  sadly. 

"  No.  Let  me  tell  you,"  she  cried,  excitedly, 
"  what  happened  to  Mirandy  Evans — she  that  mar 
ried  Si  Evans,  that  kept  the  light  on  the  ledge. 
Well,  she  had  a  son — a  good  fellow  he  was,  too — 
and  he  was  a-goin'  to  marry  as  nice  agirl  as  ever  lived ; 
her  home  was  over  to  the  east  of  Lynnport,  back 
of  the  hollow.  For  some  reason  Mirandy  was  dead 
set  against  the  match..  Well,  from  the  very  start 
she  acted  offish  and  cold  to  the  girl,  and  talked 
against  her  and  her  folks.  Well,  the  girl  was  kinder 
proud,  and  she  give  Si  up.  She  said  she  wa'n't 
goin'  into  a  family  that  didn't  want  her."  Here 
Mrs.  Munn  paused  and  looked  reflectively  out  of 
the  window;  then  continued:  "Why,  it  must  be 
some  sixteen  years  ago  it  happened ;  it  seems  like 
yesterday.  Well,  as  I  was  a-sayin',  when  Si  found 


Il6  OFF    LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

out  she  wouldn't  have  him  he  went  to  his  mother, 
and  he  just  stood  in  front  of  her  (I  heard  it  from  a 
friend  who  was  there),  and  he  says,  '  Mother,  I'm 
a-goin*  to  sea,  and  I'm  never  comin'  back  unless  I 
comes  as  a  corpse,  as  has  no  will  of  its  own.'  Mi- 
randy  didn't  believe  him  at  first,  but  he  went  away, 
and,  true  enough,  he  never  came  back.  Ten  years 
ago  come  next  Thanksgivin'  I  was  at  the  light. 
Mirandy  was  sittin'  by  the  window ;  she  was  always 
a-sittin'  there  since  Si  went  away,  a-watchin'  and 
a-watchin',  but  she  never  spoke  of  him.  I  always 
thought  Mirandy  kinder  daft  after  her  trouble  with 
Si."  Captain  Hathaway  was  listening  interestedly; 
Kate  was  leaning  forward  in  her  chair,  her  eyes  bent 
earnestly  upon  Mrs.  Munn.  "  It  was  awful  rough 
and  stormy  that  Thanksgivin' ;  the  wind  blew,  and 
the  surf  was  fearful  high.  Mirandy  she  sat  there, 
and  she  never  spoke ;  and  my  heart  did  pity  her 
husband,  old  Si.  Well,  all  of  a  sudden  she  stood 
up,  and  she  just  screamed  out,  '  Si  has  come  back, 
Si  has  come  back.'  And  sure  enough,  next  mornin' 
they  found  his  body  on  the  ledge,  washed  up  by 
the  tide.  His  ship  had  foundered  outside,  and  the 
bodies  kept  a-washin'  up  for  some  days.  We  never 
knew  whether  Mirandv  saw  him  from  the  window 


THE   CAPTAIN    INTERVIEWS    MRS.  MUNN.      117 

or  not ;  she  never  told  us.  But  she  was  a  poor  daft 
creature  till  she  died,  two  years  ago." 

No  one  spoke  for  a  moment,  then  Mrs.  Munn 
said: 

"  You  asked  for  my  advice,  Captain.  I  say, 
marry  Miss  Ruth.  The  old  ladies  are  proud  and 
high-stomached.  Take  heed  from  Mirandy ;  she 
meddled  with  the  Lord's  own  plans  and  He  pun 
ished  her." 

"  I  will  marry  her,  Mrs.  Munn,  if  she  will  con 
sent,"  said  the  Captain,  solemnly. 

Kate  did  not  speak;  she  sat  very  still.  She  was 
in  one  of  her  day-dreams.  Perhaps  in  her  dream 
she  saw  a  vision,  for,  looking  up  suddenly,  she 
beckoned  to  her  brother. 

"  Come  here,  Jack,"  she  said,  sadly ;  "  come  close 
beside  me;"  then,  taking  his  hand,  held  it  tightly 
in  hers.  "  If — if —  "  she  said,  slowly,  "  anything 
should  happen  to  part  you  and  Ruth,  would  you 
take  it  very  hard,  dear?"  She  looked  tenderly 
into  his  face. 

"  It  would  kill  me,  Kate,"  he  said,  vehemently. 
"  I  should  do  as  Si  did — I  should  go  away  forever." 
Jack's  head  was  bowed  and  a  tremor  ran  through 
his' strong  frame. 


Il8  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

"Oh  no,  no!"  said  Kate,  "not  that — forever!" 
Here  Mrs.  Munn  interposed ;  she  never  could  see 
Kate  in  tears. 

"  Now,  Captain,  don't  take  on  so,"  she  said, 
briskly.  "  You  know  there  is  another  side  to  every 
thing  in  this  world.  Goodness  knows,  I  hope  Miss 
Ruth  won't  go  back  on  you  ;  but  even  if  she  should 
you  won't  die,  Captain,  you  won't  die.  Why, 
Ebeneze'r  Whitcomb,  over  at  the  corners,  lost  his 
sweetheart  about  two  years  ago.  I  was  there  when 
she  died.  She  was  a  gentle,  good  creature,  and  he 
went  on  awful.  I  never  see  anything  like  it.  Why, 
he  tore  up  all  his  clothes ;  said  he  would  never  want 
anything  any  more — what  was  clothes  to  him  ?  And 
he  cried  so  loud  you  could  hear  him  at  the  cross 
roads,  half  a  mile  away.  The  day  of  the  burial, 
why,  his  brothers  just  held  him  up,  he  was  so  tot- 
terin' ;  and  he  kept  a-hollerin,' '  Bury  me  too.  Throw 
the  dirt  on  me  too.'  And  if  it  hadn't  been  for  the 
scandal  I'd  'a'  thrown  a  hull  handful  at  him.  Well, 
the  end  of  it  all  was,  he  married  in  six  months,  a 
good 'sharp  woman  that'll  take  all  the  foolishness 
out  of  him.  No,  no,  Captain,  men  never  die  for  a 
girl ;  a  good  case  of  fever  is  much  more  likely." 


THE    CAPTAIN    INTERVIEWS    MRS.  MUNN.    IIQ 

The  Captain  did  not  seem  to  hear  her.  He 
crossed  the  room,  sat  down  by  the  window, 
looked  out  through  the  vines  that  crept  over  the 
trellis,  and  thought  of  Ruth.  Yes,  he  would  do  as 
Si  did :  he  would  never  return  to  Lynnport  if  any 
thing  parted  him  from  Ruth.  It  would  harden  him 
— that  he  knew.  Yet  why  should  he  lose  her?  He 
would  not  think  of  that.  No,  he  would  drive  that 
horrid  thought  from  him.  How  sweet  and  fair  she 
was!  how  brave  and  true!  He  could  trust  her; 
she  would  leave  all  for  him.  They  would  go  away 
together;  she  would  follow  the  sea  with  him;  and, 
some  day,  when  he  had  made  his  fortune,  they 
would  come  back  to  Lynnport.  He  would  build  a 
great  house  like  the  homestead,  give  up  his  roving 
life,  and  be  a  model  landowner. 

The  following  day  was  Sunday,  and  Captain 
Hathaway  wended  his  way  to  the  village  church. 
The  little  wooden  edifice  stood  on  a  high  knoll  that 
overlooked  the  greater  portion  of  the  town.  In 
order  to  reach  the  church  the  townspeople  had  built 
steps  in  the  steep  incline,  in  preference  to  lowering 
the  foundation.  For,  as  they  said  in  their  town- 
meeting,  "  Our  ancestors  set  the  church  upon  a  hill 


120  OFF   LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

to  serve  both  as  a  fort  against  their  enemies,  the 
Indians,  and  as  a  beacon  to  the  sailors ;  so  we  will 
not  molest  it." 

Ruth  was  in  church  that  Sunday  morning,  and 
alone.  She  sat  in  the  square  Lorrimer  pew,  her 
head  not  reaching  the  top  of  its  spacious  back.  A 
very  forlorn  little  worshiper  she  was,  troubled  and 
perplexed  about  many  things. 

The  old  Puritan  minister  droned  away  through  a 
long,  doleful  sermon.  It  seemed  to  her  as  though 
the  firstly,  secondly,  thirdly,  fourthly,  and  "to  con 
clude"  would  never  come  to  an  end  and  she  be  free 
to  converse  with  Jack.  She  had  caught  a  glimpse 
of  his  tall  figure  as  he  entered  the  church.  Finally 
the  congregation  was  dismissed.  Ruth  tripped 
down  the  aisle  and  out  into  the  sunshine.  She 
looked  very  dainty  and  sweet  that  Sabbath  morn 
ing,  with  scant  skirts  just  reaching  her  slim  ankles, 
and  little  slippered  feet  peeping  out  below  dainty 
lace  ruffles,  her  large,  plume-bedecked  hat  casting 
a  softening  shade  over  the -pretty  face,  her  white- 
silk  mitts  drawn  well  up  over  her  arms,  and  an  em 
broidered  bag  hanging  by  her  side,  containing  her 
handkerchief,  smelling-salts,  and  a  simple  repast  of 
caraway-seeds. 


THE    CAPTAIN    INTERVIEWS    MRS.  MUNN.     121 

Captain  Hathaway  joined  her  instantly,  and  drew 
her  away  from  the  thoroughfare,  crowded  with 
worshipers,  to  a  quiet  side  street  that  led  down  to 
the  water's  edge.  At  sight  of  his  face  she  grew 
pale  and  looked  troubled.  He  hurried  her  on  with 
an  impetuous  ardor  that  frightened  her.  Though 
Ruth  knew  nothing  of  what  had  passed  in  the  inter 
view  between  Jack  and  her  grandmother,  she  con 
jectured  it  was  that  interview  which  had  caused  the 
serious  seizure,  and  from  which  she  was  slowly 
recovering. 

When  they  reached  a  retired  spot,  sheltered  from 
the  gaze  of  any  passers-by,  near  an  overhanging 
ledge  upon  which  grew  scrub-bushes  and  stunted 
cedars,  the  Captain  held  Ruth  closely  to  his  side  and 
looked  so  earnestly  into  her  face  that  she  became 
alarmed. 

"Jack,"  she  said,  "  what  is  it?  Tell  me.  Some 
thing  has  happened;  tell  me." 

"  Mrs.  Lorrimer  has  forbidden  me  to  see  you ; 
has  commanded  me  to  give  you  up.  Ruth,  you 
would  not  give  me  up,  dear?  "  His  voice  trembled 
and  broke.  He  held  her  head  against  his  shoul 
der,  and  his  blue  eyes  were  looking  wistfully  into 
hers. 


122  OFF    LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

"  No,  never,"  she  said.  "  I  will  not  give  you  up. 
I  am  your  promised  wife;  I  will  be  true  to  you." 

Ruth  released  herself  from  his  clasp,  and  step 
ping  nearer  to  the  waterside  stood  silent  a  moment, 
looking  over  the  harbor.  The  bay  was  dotted  with 
ships  of  the  fishing-fleet  that  were  anchored  over 
the  Sabbath  day.  Beyond  them,  rolling  gently- on 
the  tide,  loomed  up  the  black  hull  and  tall  masts  of 
the  "  Bonny  Kate."  It  had  rained  the  night  before, 
and  the  great  sails  of  the  strong  brig  were  spread  in 
the  morning  breeze  to  dry.  She  watched  the  quiet 
scene  through  blinding  tears,  then  came  back  to 
Jack's  side. 

"  I  have  thought  it  all  over,  Jack,"  she  said.  "  I 
will  marry  you,  but  we  must  wait.  I  cannot  come 
to  you  without  grandmother's  consent." 

"  She  will  never  give  it,"  he  exclaimed,  fiercely. 
"  I  will  not  wait  for  that.  I  will  not  wait  until  the 
dead,  by  their  silence,  give  consent  to  what  in  life 
they  opposed.  No,  you  must  come  to  me  now, 
Ruth — now  while  she  lives." 

"  I  cannot,"  she  said,  sadly.  "  I  would  never  be 
happy  with  you,  Jack,  if  I  thought  I  had  broken  the 
heart  of  the  best  friend  I  ever  had." 

"You   must   come   to   me,  Ruth."     Then,  more 


THE   CAPTAIN    INTERVIEWS    MRS.  MUNN.     123 

quickly  :  "  In  September  I  shall  sail  for  China,  to  be 
gone  five  years.  The  '  Bonny  Kate  '  goes  to  Boston 
in  August  to  load  her  cargo.  After  that  we  must 
make  our  plans.  She  will  lie  at  the  wharf  till  we 
sail." 

"  September ! "  she  said,  sadly  ;  "  only  two  months 
off,  and  you  will  be  gone  five  years." 

"  I  shall  be  gone  forever  if  I  do  not  take  you  with 
me.  Do  you  know  what  you  are  doing,  Ruth? 
You  care  for  me — you  have  told  me  so — and  I — I 
am  too  plain  of  speech  to  say  how  much  I  love 
you.  You  must  feel  it,  you  must  know  it,  and  yet 
you  ask  me  to  go  away  for  five  years,  only  to  hear 
from  you  at  long  intervals  of  months,  perhaps  years. 
You  cannot  mean  it.  No,  we  must  get  married  this 
summer.  Before  the  vessel  sails  we  can  take  the 
stage-coach  to  Boston,  embark  there,  leaving  a 
letter  explaining  all  to  Mrs.  Lorrimer,  and  shake  the 
dust  of  Lynnport  off  our  feet.  I  swear,  Ruth,  I'll 
make  you  happy.  You  were  intended  for  a  sailor's 
wife,  and  you  shall  have  the  cosiest  nest  that  was 
ever  made  on  board  a  fast  clipper."  He  laughed, 
and  pushed  his  cap  back  from  his  crisp,  wavy 
hair. 

"  Do  not  ask  me  to  decide  now ;  I  must  think  it 


124  OFF    LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

over  carefully,"  she  said.  "  We  have  two  months 
before  us." 

"  Yes,  but  I  cannot  see  you.  I  am  forbidden  to 
call  at  the  homestead,  and  you  will  be  wratched 
closely." 

"  No,  my  grandmother  will  never  do  that.  She 
will  trust  to  my  honor ;  she  would  not  believe  me 
capable  of  deceiving  her.  Even  now,  when  I  shall 
be  late  home  from  church,  she  will  not  think  I  am 
with  you.  It  is  very  hard  for  me,  Jack."  Ruth 
turned  impetuously  toward  him,  her.  pretty  face 
flushed,  her  eyes  full  of  tears.  "  I  shall  not  give 
you  up.  Some  way  must  be  found  to  right  matters. 
If,  when  September  comes,  grandmother  is  still  op 
posed  to  our  marriage,  I  will — yes,  I  will  go  away 
with  you." 

He  caught  her  to  him  and  kissed  her  passion 
ately. 

"  Then,"  he  said,  "  I  care  for  nothing  else.  What 
does  it  matter,  after  all?  We  have  to  live  our 
lives;  no  one  can  live  them  for  us.  This  secret, 
whatever  it  may  be,  can  go  to  their  graves  with 
them.  It  must  not  darken  our  prospects." 

"Ah!  this  secret,"  she  murmured;  "what  can  it 
be?  I  shudder  when  I  think  of  it." 


THE   CAPTAIN   INTERVIEWS   MRS.  MUNN.    125 

At  this  instant  they  were  disturbed  by  a  crack 
ling  in  the  bushes  that  grew  upon  the  ledge  above 
them.  Looking  upward  they  saw  the  jolly  red  face 
of  Dr.  Goodyear  through  an  opening  in  the  pines 
peering  down  upon  them. 

"Well,  well,  well ! "  he  ejaculated.  "  Tut,  tut,  tut ! 
This  will  never  do — never  in  the  world.  Come  up 
here  this  instant,  you  two  foolish  creatures.  I  have 
been  looking  for  you  everywhere." 

Jack  and  Ruth  laughed ;  then  Jack  helped  her  up 
the  steep  incline,  where  presently  they  stood  by  the 
doctor's  side  upon  the  ledge.  The  old  man  looked 
at  them  suspiciously. 

"  Now,  Ruth,"  he  said,  "  this  must  not  happen 
again.  It  is  fully  an  hour  and  a  half  since  church 
was  over.  I  have  already  been  to  the  homestead 
and  back.  They  are  in  a  nice  state  of  excitement 
about  you — at  least  your  Aunt  Jane  is.  She  has 
told  Mrs.  Lorrimer,  under  my  directions  (I  said  I 
would  take  the  lie  on  my  shoulders),  that  you  had 
gone  home  with  Mrs.  Burton.  I  went  so  far  as  to 
say  I'd  seen  you  enter  Mrs.  Burton's  gate.  What 
do  you  mean  by  making  an  old  man  lie  like  that — 
on  Sunday  morning,  too?" 

"  O  doctor,  I  am  so  sorry,"  said  Ruth.     "  If  you 


126  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

will  only  drive  me  home  in  the  gig  I  will  never  do 
it  again." 

"  Well,"  said  the  doctor,  gruffly,  "  how  about  the 
Captain  ?  What  does  he  promise  ?  " 

"  I  promise  nothing,"  said  Jack,  haughtily.  "  I 
am  beholden  to  no  man." 

The  doctor  gave  him  a  keen  glance.  "  So  it  is 
to  be  warfare?"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  but  open  warfare.  If  I  can  win  I  shall.  I 
have  told  them  so.  I  have  given  them  warning. 
Obstacles  are  nothing  to  me.  I  know  my  own 
mind;  I  am  captain  of  my  own  ship." 

"  Go  ahead,  my  boy,  go  ahead.  May  a  good 
breeze  and  fair  tide  go  with  you  and  take  you  intp 
a  safe  harbor.  Don't  say,  though,  if  anything  hap 
pens,  the  old  doctor  didn't  give  a  bit  of  advice." 

"  I  want  no  one's  advice ;  I  can  steer  my  own 
course." 

The  doctor  shook  his  head  dubiously. 

Ruth  was  taken  to  the  homestead  by  the  doctor. 
Jack  went  back  to  his  sister's  cottage. 

That  evening,  after  Kate  had  been  made  ready 
for  the  night,  in  her  pretty  room  that  overlooked  the 
village  and  the  sea,  Jack  made  his  way  to  the  kitchen, 
where  he  knew  he  should  find  Mrs.  Munn. 


THE    CAPTAIN    INTERVIEWS    MRS.  MUNN. 

The  kitchen  was  a  pleasant  room,  large  and  airy. 
It  had  a  southern  exposure  that  overlooked  the 
vegetable-garden,  whose  practical  growth  flour 
ished  green  and  inviting  amid  a  profuse  mass  of 
brilliant,  hardy  annuals.  On  the  walls  of  the 
kitchen  the  tins  gleamed  in  the  light  of  the  candles 
that  stood  on  the  shelf,  and  the  open  fireplace  still 
held  a  few  dying  embers  that  sputtered  feebly 
underneath  the  great  pot  that  hung  upon  the  iron 
crane. 

Mrs.  Munn  was  in  her  Sunday  attire  of  black. 
She  sported  a  marvelous  cap  of  huge  dimensions, 
surmounted  by  masses  of  lavender  ribbon.  At  her 
throat  was  a  pin  made  from  a  lock  of  the  lamented 
Munn's  hair.  She  was  sitting  by  the  table  reading 
her  Bible.  She  looked  up  when  the  Captain  en 
tered,  and  laid  one  hand  on  its  open  page. 

The  Captain  leaned  against  the  shelf  above  the 
fireplace  and  gazed  moodily  into  its  open,  cavern 
ous  mouth. 

Mrs.  Munn  did  not  speak.  She  watched  him 
silently,  with  a  covert  admiration,  thinking  he  was 
the  handsomest  man  she  ever  saw. 

After  some  moments  he  said,  abruptly :  "  Mrs. 
Munn,  can  you  remember  many  years  back  in  your 


128  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

life?  I  don't  mean  to  ask  how  old  you  are,"  he 
concluded,  hastily — "  nothing  of  the  kind ;  only  to 
see  if  you  can  recall  an  incident  about  which  I  am 
puzzled." 

Mrs.  Munn  bridled  slightly.  She  was  sensitive 
about  her  age,  and  considered  prying  on  that  point 
an  impertinence. 

"  Yes,  I  can  remember  a  good  number  of  years 
back.  I  always  had  a  good  memory." 

"  Do  you  remember,  or  did  you  ever  hear  of 
anything  strange  happening  at  the  Lorrimer  place  ? 
It  must  have  been  a  great  many  years  ago." 

Mrs.  Munn  closed  her  Bible  and  gazed  reflectively 
down  upon  the  shining  boards  of  the  kitchen  floor. 

"  Well,  now  you  speak  of  it,"  she  said,  "  it  ap 
pears  to  me  I  heard  somethin'  did  happen  there, 
once.  I  never  heard  it  from  mother,  though;  she 
never  gossiped,  and  she  was  as  afraid  of  a  gossip  as 
of  a  rattlesnake.  She  used  to  say  to  me,  '  Now, 
Sarah,  when  they  begin  talking,  fly,  for  those  is  the 
warnin'  rattles — ' ' 

"  What  do  you  remember  in  connection  with  this 
story  of  the  Lorrimers?"  interrupted  the  Captain, 
impatiently. 

"Well,  I  heard  somethin'  once  from  old  Nancy 


THE    CAPTAIN    INTERVIEWS    MRS.  MUNN.    1 29 

Martin.  She  had  the  longest,  sharpest  tongue  in 
all  Lynnport ;  she  just  cut  right  and  left  with  it,  like 
a  two-edged  sword.  She  said  the  Lorrimers  and 
Westons  were  quality  and  thought  themselves  awful 
big,  but  if  everything  was  known  about  them  they 
couldn't  hold  their  heads  up  in  Lynnport  again. 
Then  she  said  old  Henry  Weston  came  home  from 
the  war  because  somethin'  had  happened  at  the 
homestead,  and  it  killed  him.  He  did  die  fearful 
sudden,  I  know,  and  nobody  ever  knew  just  what 
he  died  of.  There  was  some  kind  of  talk  at  the 
time,  but  it  got  hushed  up." 

"  Is  that  all  you  know?" 

"  Yes,  that's  all  I  ever  heard.  You  see  I  was 
young  at  the  time;  and  la  sakes!  old  Nancy's  been 
dead  for  years  and  years.  They  say  she  died  from 
gold,  taken  by  being  pumped  on  at  the  village 
pump  on  account  of  her  scandalous  stories.  She 
was  eighty-six.  I  guess  it  wasn't  the  pump ;  it  was 
old  age."  . 

"  I  am  sorry  you  know  nothing  further,"  said  the 
Captain,  in  a  disappointed  tone.  "  I  had  hoped  you 
would  remember.  At  any  rate,  Mrs.  Munn,  story 
or  no  story,  I  am  going  to  marry  Ruth.  We  are 
going  to  run  away  together  if  nothing  better  offers." 


130  OFF    LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

"Well,  I  declare!"  said  Mrs.  Munn,  looking  up 
eagerly.  There  was  quite  a  spice  of  romance  in 
her  grim,  shrewd  composition,  and  she  enjoyed  in 
tensely  being  taken  into  the  Captain's  confidence. 
"  She's  a  sweet  creature,  Captain,  Miss  Ruth  is,  and 
it's  all  like  a  story  out  of  a  book." 

"  You  must  not  speak  of  this,  Mrs.  Munn.  I  tell 
you  because  I  like  and  trust  you." 

"  I'd  be  a  martyr  at  the  stake  before  I'd  tell  a 
word,"  she  said.  Then,  with  a  little  sniffle,  she 
gazed  around  the  kitchen,  to  the  rafters  hung  with 
herbs  and  strings  of  peppers,  then  back  to  the  Cap 
tain  ;  and  putting  her  apron  to  her  eyes,  she  sobbed 
aloud. 

"  Don't  speak  to  me,  Captain,  don't  speak  to 
me;  just  let  me  have  my  cry  out.  You  put  me  so 
much  in  mind  of  Munn :  just  the  way  he  stood 
up,  so  straight  and  tall — oh  dear,  oh  dear! — when 
he  said,  '  Sarah,  we'll  be  as  happy  as  the  day  is 
long.' ' 

As  the  Captain  in  his  boyhood  had  seen  the  la 
mented  Munn,  remembering  well  his  corpulent 
figure  and  red,  swollen  visage,  and  the  terrible  life 
he  led  his  faithful  wife,  he  was  not  duly  impressed 
by  Mrs.  Munn's  last  remark.  Going  up  to  her 


THE    CAPTAIN    INTERVIEWS    MRS.   MUNN.     13! 

kindly,  however,  he  put  his  hand  on  her  shoulder, 
and  said : 

"  Don't  feel  so,  Mrs.  Munn.  This  life  isn't  so 
very  long  after  all,  and  you  will  meet  him  again." 

This  speech  had  a  startling  effect.  Mrs.  Munn 
rose  hastily,  and  taking  her  Bible  in  her  hand  blew 
out  one  of  the  candles. 

"  No,  Captain,"  she  said,  decidedly,  "  I  shall 
never  see  Munn  again ;  he  is  not  one  of  the  elect. 
It  is  ten  o'clock  and  time  for  bed." 

The  Captain  not  moving  instantly,  she  took  the 
other  candle  and  marched  toward  the  door,  leaving 
him  to  follow,  secretly  much  amused. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

RUTH   DEMANDS   AN   EXPLANATION. 

JULY  and  August  passed ;  it  was  the  first  week  in 
September.  The  weather  was  fine,  just  a  snap  of 
coolness  in  the  atmosphere  toward  evening,  and  a  sus 
picious  glow  upon  the  hills,  harbinger  of  the  com 
ing  of  the  blue  autumn  haze.  The  mackerel  had 
put  in  an  appearance  off  the  ledge  beyond  the  har 
bor's  mouth,  and  the  fleet  made  ready  daily,  at  the 
first  faint  glimmer  of  the  dawn,  for  operations  on 
the  fishing-grounds. 

September  was  a  busy  month  in  Lynnport.  The 
bluefish  would  run  sometimes  until  late  in  the 
month,  and  the  mackerel  would  crowd  in  upon 
their  tardy  departure,  giving  the  men  plenty  of 
work  and  hard-earned  profits. 

The  "  Bonny  Kate  "  left  the  bay  for  Boston  in 
August,  and  the  handsome  brig  was  missed  from 

132 


RUTH    DEMANDS   AN    EXPLANATION.         133 

her  anchorage,  where  she  had  delighted  the  eyes  of 
the  fishermen  for  weeks  past 

During  all  this  time  Mrs.  Lorrimer  remained 
weak  and  languid,  keeping  her  room  part  of  the 
day ;  then,  helped  tenderly  to  the  piazza  by  Ruth 
and  Jane,  she  would  sit  in  the  sunshine,  looking 
silently  over  the  water  that  rolled  swiftly  out  to  sea 
past  the  foot  of  the  manor-house  grounds. 

Now  that  September  had  come  and  the  days 
were  shortening,  settling  down  early  into  chilly 
nights,  she  sat  in  the  north  drawing-room  before  a 
wood-fire  that  burned  brightly  in  the  great  open 
fireplace. 

She  had  never  mentioned  Captain  Hathaway's 
name  in  these  past  weeks.  As  the  days  followed 
one  another  poor  Ruth  lost  all  hope  of  her  grand 
mother's  relenting  or  explaining. 

"  No,"  she  thought,  "  she  will  never  consent.  She 
thinks  I  have  given  him  up;  that  everything  is  over, 
and  I  have  forgotten  him — as  if  I  ever  could  forget. 
I  dare  not  speak  to  her;  her  heart  is  weak.  They 
have  warned  me  to  be  careful." 

Ruth  had  seen  Jack  many  times  during  the  past 
two  months.  Many  long  walks  they  had  taken  in 
the  woodlands  back  from  the  sea;  many  a  lover's 


134  OFF   LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

chat  had  they  enjoyed,  sitting  in  the  protecting 
shadow  of  some  kindly  boulder.  They  had  grown 
closer  together  after  each  meeting.  Perhaps  the 
very  fact  of  their  being  stolen  meetings,  secrecy  and 
vigilance  attending  them,  made  them  the  more 
treasured. 

Ruth  had  grown  to  understand  Jack's  passionate 
nature,  his  strong,  indomitable  will,  and  his  exceed 
ing  tenderness  of  heart.  She  valued  his  love,  grateful 
for  her  happiness,  surrounded  as  it  was  with  doubts 
and  misgivings. 

At  times  his  impetuous  avowals  frightened  and 
overwhelmed  her.  Everything  must  be  swept 
aside ;  no  obstacles  must  be  heeded,  no  barriers 
permitted.  Ruth  drifted  down  the  sweet,  stolen 
currents  of  her  love-story  like  a  little  bark,  happy 
in  the  protecting  guidance  of  a  strong  hand ;  won 
dering,  fearing,  and  loving  deeply. 

The  middle  of  September  came.  On  the  24th 
the  "  Bonny  Kate  "  would  put  out  to  sea,  and  the 
Captain  must  take  his  bride  aboard.  Ruth,  with 
her  cold,  trembling  hand  in  her  lover's,  promised 
she  would  give  up  her  home,  the  interests  of  her 
girlhood,  the  love  of  those  who  had  been  kind  to 
her  from  babyhood,  and  go  with  him  out  into  that 
new,  untried  life. 


RUTH    DEMANDS   AN    EXPLANATION.         135 

"  It  is  cruel,  Jack,"  she  sobbed ;  "  it  is  cruel." 

When  she  gave  this  promise  they  were  standing 
on  a  rocky  ledge  that  projected  far  out  into  the  sea. 
The  little  town  lay  back  of  them.  They  seemed 
quite  alone  in  the  world.  Everything  was  very 
still,  except  the  dull  booming  of  the  surf  in  the 
caverns  below  them,  and  the  occasional  wild  cry  of 
a  gull  or  a  cormorant  as  he  winged  his  swooping 
flight  over  the  water. 

"Cruel!"  echoed  Jack,  vehemently.  "Would 
you  rather  give  me  up?  Are  they  more  to  you 
than  I  am?  " 

"  No,  no,"  she  cried,  clinging  to  him,  "  you  know 
they  are  not.  Can  you  not  see  what  you  are  to 
me,  when  I  am  willing  to  renounce  them  for  you  ? 
O  Jack,  do  not  be  harsh  to  me.  Am  I  not  going 
away  into  a  new  world  all  alone  with  you?  I  have 
never  been  far  from  home,  Jack." 

"  Ruth,"  he  said,  "  I  will  be  more  than  all 
to  you.  I  will ;  I  swear  it.  I  will  make  up  to  you 
for  all  you  lose.  If  not,  may  God  visit  it  upon 
me ! " 

He  made  the  plans,  she  acquiesced  in  silence. 

On  the  evening  of  the  23d  they  proposed  taking 
the  stage  that  started  from  the  post-house  at  the 
cross-roads.  They  would  reach  Boston  the  follow- 


136  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

ing  day,  be  married,  and  go  on  board  the  vessel  an 
hour  or  two  before  she  sailed.  Ruth  need  take  very 
little  baggage  with  her,  as  she  would  not  require  a 
great  deal  on  board  ship;  what  was  necessary  she 
could  purchase  in  Boston.  They  would  send  a  let 
ter  back  by  the  stage-driver  to  Mrs.  Lorrimer,  and 
when  she  received  it  the  brig  would  be  miles  out 
at  sea. 

The  2Oth  of  September  came,  and  with  it  a  great 
storm — the  "  line  storm,"  as  the  sailors  called  it.  It 
swept  the  coast  with  a  relentless  fury  that  kept  the 
fishing-boats  anchored  in  their  sale  harbor.  Even 
there  the  motion  of  the  sea  penetrated,  and  the  little 
stout  vessels  strained,  pulled,  and  dragged  at  their 
anchors.  Their  owners,  with  their  brown,  weather- 
beaten  faces  filled  with  a  pathetic  solicitude,  watched 
them  anxiously  from  shore. 

Mrs.  Munn  wheeled  Kate  down  to  the  beach  in 
the  afternoon,  after  the  rain  ceased,  to  watch  the  tre 
mendous  sea  that  came  rolling  in,  dashing  against 
the  bulkheads,  then  receding  with  a  dull,  baffled 
roar,  casting  spray  far  inland. 

The  rain  was  over,  but  the  sky  was  filled  with 
banks  of  gray,  drifting  clouds,  that  hurried  on  with 
impetuous  velocity,  driven  before  the  wind. 


RUTH    DEMANDS   AN    EXPLANATION.         137 

Mrs.  Munn  had  a  woolen  shawl  pinned  tightly 
over  her  head,  and  her  cotton  skirts  blew  fiercely 
in  the  gale,  displaying  a  substantial  pair  of  gaitered 
feet.  She  was  drawing  in  her  breath  with  the  de 
licious  sense  of  inhaling  drafts  of  salt  air,  and  her 
gray  eyes  were  bent  seaward.  She  turned  abruptly 
at  the  sound  of  a  voice  near  by. 

"  Well,  Sarah  Munn,  how  is  your  health  these 
days?" 

A  sun-browned,  middle-aged  man  was  addressing 
her.  His  gray  hair  hung  thick  and  bushy  about  his 
face,  which  was  seamed  and  wrinkled  by  exposure 
to  the  weather.  He  was  dressed  in  a  tarpaulin  suit, 
the  water  glistening  on  its  oily  surface,  and  in  one 
hand  he  held  a  string  of  fish. 

"  I'm  well,  Jim  Benton.  How  are  you,  and  your 
mother  and  Mehetabel?" 

"  Middlin',  middlin',  Mrs.  Munn." 

At  this  instant  Mrs.  Munn  glanced  out  to  sea 
again.  Impelled  by  some  unaccountable  motive, 
she  looked  toward  the  east.  Outlined  against  the 
gray  sky  she  saw  two  figures  standing  close  to 
gether  on  the  ledge  near  the  entrance  to  the  bay. 

The  man's  gaze  followed  hers.  He  started  and 
drew  nearer  to  his  companion,  then  looked  appre- 


138  OFF   LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

hensively  toward  Kate.  She  did  not  seem  to  be 
heeding  them ;  her  gaze  was  riveted  on  a  red  glow 
in  the  west,  where  the  sun  was  bursting  forth  like 
a  fire  in  the  sky,  the  gray  clouds  rushing  before  its 
light. 

"  "  It's  the  Captain  and  Miss  Ruth,"  volunteered 
Jim,  clutching  Mrs.  Munn's  sleeve.  "  They're 
a-courtin'.  How  does  the  old  people  take  it,  Mrs. 
Munn?"  He  peered  up  into  her  face  with  his 
small,  bright  eyes. 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  Jim 
Benton,"  replied  Mrs.  Munn,  with  some  asperity, 
as  she  dropped  her  grasp  on  the  handle  of  Kate's 
chair  and  drew  aside  a  few  paces. 

"  I  only  asked  a  civil  question.  There's  good 
reasons  why  the  old  lady  shouldn't  like  it.  I'd  be 
salted  for  a  herrin'  if  I'd  like  it  in  her  place." 

Mrs.  Munn  looked  at  him  sharply. 

"  Tell  what  you  know,  Jim  Benton,  and  be  done 
with  it.  If  there  is  anything  I  hate  it  is  this  insinu- 
atin'." 

"  You're  a  rude,  onsociable  woman,  Mrs.  Munn," 
said  Jim,  angrily,  as  he  turned  aside.  "  You  can 
whistle  for  the  story." 

Mrs.  Munn  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm. 


RUTH    DEMANDS   AN    EXPLANATION.          139 

"  You're  as  techy  as  you  can  be.  Is  there  any 
thing  against  the  Captain,  Jim?" 

"  No,  it  ain't  that,"  said  Jim,  partly  mollified. 
"  I  never  heard  anything  against  him.  '  I  never 
knew  the  rights  on  it  anyhow,  only  there  was  an 
awful  thing  happened  down  at  the  homestead  years 
ago.  You  know  old  General  Weston,  who  served 
with  General  Washington  most  all  through  the 
war?  Well,  I  heerd  he  cursed  every  one  of  the 
Hathaways,  root  and  branch.  It  was  all  along  o' 
somethin'  some  o'  the  old  Hathaways  done ;  and 
the  curse  has  come  home  to  the  whole  lot  o'  them 
except  the  Captain.  Look  at  Miss  Kate,  there,  all 
hunched  out  o!  shape;  ain't  that  a  curse?" 

"Pshaw!"  said  Mrs.  Munn.  "You're  a  bigger 
silly  than  I  took  you  to  be,  Jim  Benton.  You,  a 
Christian  man,  to  believe  in  curses!  The  hand  of 
God  was  laid  on  Miss  Kate  as  an  example  to  us  to 
be  grateful  for  our  better  lot ;  anyhow,  that's  what 
my  Bible  says.  Don't  you  go  round  spreadin'  her 
esy  and  schism  like  that." 

Jim  drew  back  in  rather  a  shamefaced  manner. 

"  I'm  an  orthodox  man,  Mrs.  Munn.  I  ain't  a 
schism-spreader.  It's  only  been  once  in  a  great  while 
I  fished  on  Sunday,  and  then  I  was  tempted  by  the 


140  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

fish  walkin',  as  you  might  say,  right  up  to  my 
house.  The  house  is  almost  on  the  dock.  There 
they  was,  a-shinin'  and  a-glistenin',  and  it  wa'n't 
in  weak  human  nature  to  let  'em  go  by ;  but  I  sang 
hymns  the  whole  evenin'  with  the  old  mother  after 
the  fish  was  cleaned." 

Mrs.  Munn  eyed  him  disapprovingly. 

"  I  don't  believe  in  that  kind  of  restitution,"  she 
said.  "  I'll  warrant  you  ate  the  fish  before  you 
sang  the  hymns."  Putting  her  hand  upon  her  re 
fractory  skirts,  which  stood  out  like  a  balloon,  she 
continued,  seeing  that  the  old  man  did  not  reply : 
"Well,  I  must  be  goin'.  It's  gettin'  dark;  it's  cold 
for  Miss  Kate." 

Ruth  had  made  arrangements  for  her  flight.  The 
little  possessions  that  she  treasured  had  been  packed 
with  an  extra  change  of  clothing  in  a  box  she  pur 
posed  carrying  when  she  left  the  homestead. 

It  was  the  morning  of  the  23d  of  September. 
The  long  storm  was  over.  She  rose  early,  and  with 
tear-dimmed  eyes  looked  over  the  lovely  prospect 
that  she  would  perhaps  never  see  again. 

Ruth  appeared  to  be  in  a  dream,  a  daze.  She 
hardly  knew  herself;  her  senses  were  benumbed. 
When  they  spoke  to  her  she  did  not  comprehend 


RUTH    DEMANDS   AN    EXPLANATION.          14! 

them ;  her  replies  were  mechanically  forced,  and 
without  meaning.  As  the  morning  sped  on  a  fever 
seized  upon  her.  She  went  into  her  garden,  where 
all  was  cool  and  quiet,  where  she  loved  every 
flower,  shrub,  and  tree.  She  looked  sadly  upon 
the  flowers  in  their  decay.  The  September  storm 
had  dealt  hardly  with  them :  they  were  crushed  to 
earth,  their  beauty  tarnished.  Here  and  there  some 
bright,  defiant  blossom  glistened  in  the  sunshine, 
erect,  unconscious  of  the  decree  of  nature  and  of 
time. 

"  It  is  better  so,"  she  said,  softly.  "  It  would 
have  been  harder  to  leave  them  in  their  beauty. 
Now  they  are  all  going  away,  even  as  I  am.  The 
snow  will  soon  come  and  cover  up  their  graves." 

She  leaned  against  the  well-sweep ;  her  tears 
dropped  upon  the  mossy  curb  where  she  had 
planted  the  ferns  and  lichens. 

The  day  had  been  gray  and  dull  at  intervals, 
though  bright  gleams  of  sunshine  flooded  the  land 
scape  occasionally,  harbingers  of  a  clear  day  to-mor 
row.  One  felt  the  chill  of  autumn  in  the  air,  saw 
it  in  the  scanty  bloom  of  the  garden,  and  heard  it 
in  the  moaning  sound  among  the  pines. 

Ruth  drew  her  mantle  closer  about  her  shoulders 


142  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

and  shivered  a  little  in  the  cold.  The  gleam  of  sun 
shine  suddenly  vanished,  and  the  girl's  preoccupied 
gaze  wandered  drearily  around  the  pleasant  inclo- 
sure.  A  few  leaves,  early  fallen,  rustled  at  her  feet ; 
she  picked  them  up  mechanically  and  held  them  in 
her  hand.  She  did  not  hear  the  click  of  the  garden 
gate,  or  a  step  upon  the  grass  at  her  side.  She 
started,  feeling  a  hand  laid  on  her  arm.  She  turned 
and  saw  it  was  Jane,  who  looked  earnestly  at  her, 
with  kind  sympathy  in  her  eyes. 

"Come,  Ruth,"  she  said,  "it  is  growing  cold; 
come  to  the  house." 

All  the  pent-up  fear,  sorrow,  and  anxiety  in 
Ruth's  heart  broke  forth  at  the  tender  tone  of 
sympathy,  and  she  turned  impetuously. 

"  O  Aunt  Jane,"  she  said,  brokenly,  "  I — " 

"Yes,  dear,  I  know;  his  ship  sails  to-morrow.  I 
feel  deeply  for  you,  Ruth."  Aunt  Jane,  usually  so 
undemonstrative,  leaned  over  Ruth  and  kissed  her 
gently.  "  It  is  hard,  my  little  girl,"  she  said;  "  be 
brave." 

"  Oh,  you  do  not  know,  Aunt  Jane ;  you  do  not 
understand."  Ruth  was  speaking  impetuously,  the 
words  gushing  forth  in  a  torrent.  "  Why  should  I 
give  him  up?  He  is  more  to  me  than  all  the  world. 


RUTH    DEMANDS   AN    EXPLANATION.         143 

He  is  worthy,  good,  and  true,  and  I  feel  it  is  my 
right — it  is  justice — I  should  know  why  you  wish 
to  part  us.  I  have  been  silent,  yet  I  have  not  re 
nounced  him — no,  he  is  dearer  to  me  than  ever." 

Jane  drew  back  appalled  at  the  passionate  entreaty 
in  Ruth's  voice.  The  sweet  face  was  white  and 
drawn,  the  soft  eyes  had  grown  dark  and  luminous 
with  intensity  of  feeling.  Jane  did  not  speak ;  she 
was  looking  down  irresolutely. 

"You  must  tell  me,"  cried  Ruth.  "You  treat 
me  as  a  child  ;  I  am  a  woman.  I  demand  the  truth  ; 
I  will  have  it ;  I  will  have  it  now ;  I  shall  wait  no 
longer." 

Jane  realized  that  the  crisis  had  come.  She  had 
feared  and  dreaded  this,  still  she  felt  the  justice  of 
the  girl's  appeal. 

"  Ruth,"  she  said,  slowly,  "  I  will  tell  you — but 
not  here ;  come  to  the  house.  It  is  growing  dark, 
growing  dark,"  she  repeated.  "  O  my  poor  little 
girl!" 

Ruth  paused  and  glanced  about  the  darkening 
landscape.  She  was  trembling,  and  her  hands  were 
icy  cold.  Would  this  story,  when  told,  be  suffi 
cient  to  part  her  from  Jack?  That  was  the 
thought  now  uppermost.  Much  as  she  wished  to 


144  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

hear  the  disclosure,  she  feared  and  dreaded  it.  If 
it  should  prove  an  obstacle  to  their  union,  life  would 
be  over  for  her.  Yet  had  not  her  grandmother  told 
Jack  it  was  not  a  lawful  barrier?  No,  it  would 
probably  be  one  of  honor,  of  principle.  She  would 
be  brave,  and  hear  it;  then  give  up  all  the  world 
for  him,  and  they  would  go  away  to  those  foreign 
countries  of  which  he  had  told  her.  She  hesitated 
an  instant,  with  her  hand  on  the  wooden  latch. 

"Come,  child,  come,"  said  Jane.  "What  are 
you  waiting  for?  " 

"I  was  only  waiting,"  said  Ruth,  "and  thinking." 
Suddenly  she  caught  her  aunt's  arm  and  held  it  like 
a  vise.  "Will  it  part  us,  aunt?  W7ill  it  part  Jack 
and  me?"  she  whispered,  hoarsely. 

"  That  is  for  you  to  judge,  Ruth.  I  cannot  say  ; 
I  dare  not.  Your  grandmother  deems  it  sufficient." 

Ruth  did  not  speak  after  that,  but  followed  her 
aunt  down  the  graveled  walk  to  the  house.  It  was 
not  dark  in  the  house  yet.  It  faced  the  west.  The 
windows  were  lighted  by  a  red  glow  that  had  sprung 
from  the  bank  of  gray  clouds  that  lay  heavy  and 
threatening  over  the  sea.  The  wide  manor  was 
bathed  in  a  ruddy  light;  its  windows  glistened  like 
diamonds. 


RUTH    DEMANDS    AN    EXPLANATION.          145 

They  entered  the  hall  and  paused  upon  the 
threshold  of  the  drawing-room,  where  Mrs.  Lor- 
rimer  was  seated  before  the  fire  upon  the  hearth. 
She  appeared  to  be  looking  at  the  picture  in  the 
mantel  cornice ;  the  leaping  firelight  mingled  with 
the  departing  gleam  of  the  sun,  making  grotesque 
shadows  across  its  painted  surface. 

Jane  went  directly  to  her,  and  said,  looking  ear 
nestly  upon  her : 

"  Mary,  I  have  been  a  good  sister  to  you,  have  I 
not?" 

"  Yes,  Jane,"  said  Mrs.  Lorrimer,  glancing  un 
easily  toward  her,  surprised  at  her  tone  and  words, 
"you  have  been  a  good,  kind  sister." 

"  I  wish  you  to  grant  me  a  favor.  I  wish  you  to 
be  calm  and  answer  me." 

"What  is  it,  Jane?"  said  Mrs.  Lorrimer,  anx 
iously  moving  her  jeweled  hands. 

"  It  is  a  simple  act  of  justice.  You,  not  I,  owe 
Ruth  some  reparation  for  taking  away  her  lover. 
You  have  cast  the  sorrows  of  the  past  over  the 
brightness  of  her  early  girlhood  ;  you  have  expected 
her  to  receive  this  blow  in  silence  and  make  no  out 
cry.  She  demands  an  explanation,  and  I  have  come 
to  ask  you  for  permission  to  speak." 


146  OFF   LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

"Has  she,  then,  not  forgotten  him?"  said  Mrs. 
Lorrimer,  slowly.  "  Why  this  explanation  at  this 
late  date  ?  " 

Ruth,  at  these  words,  darted  across  the  polished 
floor  and,  throwing  herself  at  her  grandmother's 
feet,  said : 

"  No,  grandmother,  I  have  not  forgotten  him ;  I 
never  shall  forget  him.  I  must  know  why  you 
seek  to  part  us.  It  is  my  right ;  I  cannot  ruin  my 
life  without  a  reason." 

Mrs.  Lorrimer  rose  slowly  from  her  cushioned 
chair.  She  stood  an  instant  looking  into  the  fire, 
then,  drawing  her  hand  wearily  across  her  brow, 
she  said : 

"  Well,  Jane,  perhaps  you  are  right.  Tell  her. 
I  would  have  liked  to  have  kept  it  from  her ;  it 
seemed  to  me  it  was  our  grief,  not  hers  ;  but  I  see  now 
it  is  the  only  course.  Our  little  one  is  a  child  no 
longer,  and  she  must  learn  her  birthright  of  sorrow. 
Take  her  away ;  do  not  tell  her  before  me.  Take 
her  to  the  old  garret,  show  her  the  letters,  then  let 
the  subject  be  forever  buried  between  us." 

Mrs.  Lorrimer  turned  her  face  away  from  them 
as  she  finished  speaking,  and  Ruth  noticed  a  scarlet 


RUTH    DEMANDS   AN   EXPLANATION.         147 

glow  overspread  her  features  from  brow  to  chin — a 
deep  crimson  stain,  almost  purple  in  its  intensity. 
She  said  nothing  further,  and  they  went  softly  from 
the  room,  up  the  winding  stairs  to  the  great  garret 
that  lay  over  the  entire  upper  story  of  the  home 
stead.  Its  windows  were  uncurtained,  and  through 
them  came  sufficient  daylight  to  decipher  objects. 
The  immense  space  was  filled  with  discarded  arti 
cles  of  household  use,  and  curios  gathered  through 
passing  years  by  different  owners  of  the  manor ;  old 
swords  and  scabbards  hung  on  the  wall,  suspended 
above  the  heavily  carved  mahogany  cradle  that  had 
rocked  the  Westons  and  the  Lorrimers  in  infancy ; 
spinning-wheels,  looms,  reels,  churns,  old  books,  tall 
battered  candelabra,  and  cumbersome  sideboards. 
Strung  upon  cords  across  the  garret  hung  garments 
of  antique  pattern,  with  discolored  lace  and  tar 
nished  buttons. 

Ruth  caught  sight  of  her  discarded  doll,  sight 
less  and  battered,  lying  across  a  trunk.  Could  it 
be,  she  wondered,  that  she  was  the  same  being  who 
not  many  years  ago  had  begged  on  rainy  days  for 
a  frolic  in  the  garret?  She  thought,  with  that 
strange  incongruity  of  the  vagaries  of  the  mind  in 


148  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

relation  to  outward  existing  events,  how  she  had 
dressed  in  those  old  garments  and  made  believe  she 
was  a  grand  lady. 

Jane  walked  straight  across  the  garret.  In  her 
hand  she  carried  a  candle  set  in  an  old-fashioned 
brass  candlestick.  She  had  a  duty  to  perform,  and, 
like  a  surgeon  who  knows  his  ground  and  feels  the 
just  demands  of  the  sufferer,  did  not  wait  to  let  the 
wound  smart  and  throb. 

Ruth  followed.  Jane  seated  herself  in  an  antique 
chair  beside  a  magnificently  carved  chest — a  chest 
brought  over  the  sea  nearly  a  century  before  the 
telling  of  this  story,  a  superb  piece  of  art,  which 
when  completed  had  passed  from  the  hand  of  a 
skilled  workman  of  Holland  to  the  keeping  of  the 
Weston  family. 

Ruth  watched  her  earnestly.  She  took  from  her 
pocket  a  key  and  held  it  in  her  hand  a  moment, 
then  paused  and  glanced  from  the  garret  window 
over  the  wide  view  beyond.  Her  plain  features 
twitched  slightly  and  her  hands  trembled.  She 
balanced  the  key  upon  her  finger  an  instant. 

"  Ruth,"  she  said,  "  it  is  many  years  since  I  have 
opened  this  chest ;  but  you  must  have  your  rights. 
Come  closer  to  me,  little  one;  let  me  hold  you 


RUTH    DEMANDS   AN    EXPLANATION.          149 

near  me.  I  will  tell  you  the  story ;  then  we  will 
look  into  the  chest,  and  you  shall  have  the  letters 
your  grandmother  spoke  of." 

Ruth  drew  closer  to  her.  She  was  white,  with 
an  unusual  pallor.  The  color  had  left  her  lips,  but 
she  did  not  speak ;  she  only  watched  her  aunt  with 
an  intent  gaze,  as  a  prisoner  watches  the  jury  upon 
whose  verdict  hangs  his  hopes. 

Jane  placed  the  key  in  the  lock,  which  grated 
harshly,  from  accumulated  rust  and  long  disuse. 

"  Come  near  me,  Ruth.  Here,  sit  on  this  foot- 
rest  ;  lean  your  head  against  me,  and  I  will  tell  you 
the  story." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  LETTERS  IN  THE  GARRET  CHEST. 

JANE,  after  some  moments  of  deep  thought, 
sighed  deeply  and  began  the  story. 

"  You  know,  Ruth,"  she  said,  "  when  our  grand 
father  fled  from  England  to  escape  the  cruelties  and 
exactions  of  an  unjust  king,  he  brought  with  him 
love  and  veneration  for  his  mother-country  which 
had  been  instilled  into  his  being  from  childhood. 

"  After  settling  in  America  he  built  this  house 
and  married.  A  most  estimable  woman  my  grand 
mother  was,  descended  from  an  old  Dutch  family 
living  on  the  island  of  the  New  Netherlands,  as  it 
was  then  called. 

"  My  grandparents  had  one  child,  a  son,  my 
father.  He,  in  early  life,  married.  His  wife  lived 
six  years  after  their  marriage  and  died  at  my  birth, 
leaving  her  two  orphan  children  to  the  care  of  her 
Aunt  Jerusha,  who  became  our  second  mother. 

150 


THE   LETTERS   IN   THE   GARRET   CHEST.      151 

"  After  my  mother's  death  I  believe  my  father 
cared  little  for  Lynnport.  He  traveled  much,  com 
ing  at  long  intervals  to  remain  only  for  a  few  days 
at  the  manor. 

"  As  the  years  passed  our  grandparents  died, 
and  my  beautiful  sister  Mary  grew  to  womanhood. 
She  was  five  years  my  senior  and  as  lovely  as  I  was 
plain.  I  worshiped  her.  And  one  summer,  when 
father  came  home  after  a  two  years'  stay  in  foreign 
lands,  he  started  in  surprise  at  her  loveliness. 

"  After  that  he  seemed  to  live  for  her  and  her 
pleasure.  Nothing  would  do  but  she  must  be  sent 
to  England  to  be  presented  at  court  by  Lady  Guy 
Weston. 

"  To  court  she  went,  and  became  the  toast  and 
belle  of  all  the  gay  gallants.  Many  stories  came 
across  the  sea  of  her  triumphs  and  the  attentions 
she  received  from  those  high  in  power.  Father's 
letters  were  rilled  with  accounts  of  her  conquests. 
She  refused  many  fine  offers  of  marriage,  for  Mary 
was  a  coquette,  and  used  her  powers  mercilessly. 

"  After  a  while  father  came  home.  Trouble  was 
brewing  in  America;  he  returned  to  look  after  his 
interests.  He  missed  Mary,  and  the  manor  seemed 
deserted  and  dull  after  his  London  life.  He  sent 


152  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

for  her,  and  she  came  back  to  Lynnport."  Jane 
paused,  and  looked  thoughtful  a  moment,  then  re 
sumed,  with  a  sigh  : 

"  Ruth,  she  was  a  grand,  queenly  woman.  She 
was  twenty-four  at  this  time ;  I  was  nineteen.  I 
had  never  become  better-looking — I  was  always 
'plain  Miss  Jane' — but  Mary — ah,  if  you  could  have 
seen  her!  she  was  very,  very  lovely. 

"  The  day  of  her  arrival  at  Lynnport  she  met  the 
man  who  was  to  win  her  heart.  It  is  very  mysteri 
ous  how  Providence  orders  these  things.  After  all 
her  triumphs,  to  have  met  her  destiny  in  this  quiet 
place ! 

"  The  man  was  John  Hathaway,  a  young  sea-cap 
tain  " — Ruth  started — "  of  plain,  respectable  parent 
age.  He  was  what  is  called  a  trading  sea-captain. 
His  vessel  plied  between  this  port  and  the  Indies — 
Lynnport  was  more  of  a  commercial  center  in  those 
days. 

"  John  Hathaway  was  a  black,  piratical-looking 
sort  of  man,  with  the  fiercest,  brightest  eyes  I  ever 
saw ;  perhaps  handsome  in  a  way.  He  cast  a  spell 
over  Mary  from  the  first.  I  could  see  her  start  and 
flush  when  he  came  near — my  courted  sister  flush 
and  tremble  like  a  foolish  girl!  He  did  not  woo 


THE    LETTERS    IN   THE    GARRET   CHEST.      153 

her  as  other  men  had  done ;  he  commanded  her. 
He  knew  his  power.  I  used  to  see  him  watching 
her  in  a  strange  manner,  and  her  eyes  would  fall 
before  his. 

"  Father  saw  nothing  of  this.  He  would  have 
been  displeased ;  he  looked  higher  for  his  beautiful 
daughter. 

"  Mary  was  cautious,  and  I  watched  and  feared.  I 
always  distrusted  John  Hathaway ;  I  think  sometimes 
I  almost  hated  him. 

"Just  at  this  time  war  broke  out.  Father,  to 
our  surprise,  joined  the  American  army,  and  has 
tened  to  the  forces  gathering  around  General 
Washington. 

"  When  he  went  away  I  was  crushed.  I  knew 
nothing  stood  between  Mary  and  Captain  Hatha 
way.  Aunt  Jerusha  had  grown  old  and  deaf;  I 
had  no  control  over  my  spoiled,  headstrong  sister. 

"  Father  had  been  gone  nearly  a  year,  when  one 
night  my  fears  of  long  standing  became  a  reality : 
Mary  told  me  she  would  soon  become  a  mother. 
I  was  wild  with  grief  and  perplexity ;  I  did  not 
know  which  way  to  turn.  She  would  tell  me  noth 
ing  further — answered  all  my  tears  and  prayers  with 
silence. 


154  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

"  A  few  weeks  after  that  a  little,  sickly,  wailing 
infant  lay  beside  her.  Ah !  that  terrible  night  comes 
back  to  me,  Ruth.  I  sent  for  our  old  family  doctor. 
Aunt  Jerusha  was  going  from  one  faint  to  another ; 
I  was  the  only  one  that  was  calm.  The  doctor  had 
met  with  an  accident  and  could  not  come,  and  in 
stead  sent  his  assistant,  Dr.  Goodyear,  who  was  then 
a  mere  stripling,  but  had  a  sensible  head  on  his 
shoulders.  We  told  him  nothing,  and  he  asked  no 
questions.  When  we  spoke  to  Mary — I  on  my 
knees  by  the  bedside — she  turned  her  face  away 
from  us  and  said  she  could  not  speak — she  had 
promised. 

"  I  always  knew  Captain  Hathaway  was  the 
father  of  the  child,  and  I  hated  him  with  a  strong, 
deadly  hatred.  I  was  crazed  enough  that  night  to 
have  killed  him. 

"  When  the  child  was  about  a  month  old,  and 
Mary  was  better  and  could  go  downstairs,  I  did 
what  has  been  to  me  a  lifelong  regret:  I  sent  for 
father — an  urgent,  pressing  message  to  come  home 
for  Mary's  sake."  Here  Jane  looked  sadly  from 
the  window.  "  It  was  a  terrible  mistake ;  all  might 
have  been  different  but  for  that." 

It  was  quite  dark  now ;  the  night  had  fallen,  but 


THE    LETTERS    IN    THE    GARRET   CHEST.      155 

the  stars  had  come  out,  and  the  moon — a  feeble, 
watery  moon — threw  a  faint  light  into  the  shadowy 
garret.  Ruth  had  drawn  closer  to  her  aunt;  her 
heart  was  beating  wildly,  and  when  a  mouse  scur 
ried  across  the  floor  she  almost  screamed  in  terror. 

"  Father  came  home.  I  told  him  all,  and  took 
him  to  Mary  and  the  child.  They  were  alone  for 
some  time.  Whatever  she  told  him  must  have  reas 
sured  him,  for  when  he  rejoined  us  his  face,  though 
saddened  and  pale,  showed  no  trace  of  other  feeling. 
Father  stayed  with  us  a  week,  then  said  he  must  re 
join  the  army — Washington  was  hard  pressed  and 
needed  all  his  generals.  It  was  the  night  before  his 
intended  departure.  It  was  late  in  the  fall ;  the 
days  were  cold — we  had  had  a  snow-storm.  It 
was  near  Thanksgiving,  and  we  were  all  seated  before 
a  great  fire  of  hickory  logs  in  the  hall.  Mary  was 
there,  with  the  child  upon  her  knee  ;  and  she  looked  so 
beautiful  that  I  could  have  fallen  down  and  worshiped 
her.  She  was  dressed  in  white ;  a  scarlet  shawl  was 
about  her  shoulders.  It  was  growing  late ;  we  were 
thinking  of  retiring,  when  Captain  Hathaway  entered 
the  hall.  He  went  straight  to  Mary,  took  the  child 
in  his  arms,  and,  taking  her  by  the  hand,  went  up 
to  father,  who  had  risen  and  stood  watching  him. 


156  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

"  '  General  Weston,  my  wife  and  my  child.  For 
give  me,'  he  said. 

"  Captain  Hathaway's  face  was  very  white ;  he 
did  not  look  at  father  when  he  spoke. 

"  Father  said  nothing.  He  tried  to,  but  his  voice 
died  away ;  then  he  placed  Mary's  hand  in  her  hus 
band's  and  turned  his  face  aside.  I  think  it  nearly 
killed  him.  I  could  not  look  at  Captain  Hathaway ; 
I  looked  away  from  him  and  his  wicked,  black  face, 
and  toward  the  great  oriel  window  in  the  end  of  the 
hall.  The  branches  of  the  trees  fell  across  this  win 
dow.  First  I  thought  I  saw  only  them,  but  I  was  mis 
taken,  for  outlined  against  the  glass  I  saw  a  woman's 
face — a  wild  face,  with  great  staring  eyes.  I 
screamed,  rushed  forward,  and  opened  the  door. 
On  the  step  stood  a  trembling  creature,  holding  by 
the  hand  a  little,  crying  boy  about  three  years  old. 
I  dragged  her  in  out  of  the  cold  and  the  snow.  I 
saw  she  belonged  to  the  fisher-folk,  and  detected 
traces  of  what  was  once  great  beauty  in  the  hag 
gard  face  she  raised  to  mine.  She  stood  silent  a 
moment,  then  raised  her  head  and  looked  straight 
at  Captain  Hathaway — a  hard,  defiant  look. 

"  I  followed  her  gaze.  The  Captain's  face  was  a 
picture  of  horror  and  fear;  there  was  murder  in  his 


THE    LETTERS   IN   THE    GARRET    CHEST.      157 

eye ;  he  would  have  killed  that  woman  if  he  had 
dared.  She  knew  it,  but  went  fearlessly  to  father, 
where  he  stood  leaning  against  the  mantel,  and  said, 
'  General  Weston,  I  have  been  wronged ;  I  am  Cap 
tain  John  Hathaway 's  wife,  and  this  is  his  child.' 
She  held  out  her  left  hand.  'There,'  she  said,  'is 
my  wedding-ring,  and  here  ' — she  handed  him  a 
crumpled  piece  of  paper  drawn  from  the  bosom 
of  her  ragged  gown — '  is  my  marriage  certificate.' 

"  Mary  looked  on  in  a  d#zed  way.  Father  took 
the  paper,  held  it  in  his  hand  a  moment,  then  read 
it.  He  glanced  at  the  woman. 

"  '  Is  this  true?  '  he  said. 

"'As  true  as  there  is  a  God  above  us!'  she 
cried.  '  Dr.  Hanson,  the  minister — you  know  him, 
sir — he  married  us.  He  has  come  to  Lynnport  with 
me  to  see  me  righted.  He  is  in  the  town.' 

"  I  went  to  Mary,  took  the  baby  from  her  arms, 
and  tried  to  make  her  lean  against  me.  She  pushed 
me  away,  and  stood  up  as  tall  and  straight  as  a  pine. 
Then  father  went  to  Captain  Hathaway. 

"  '  Is  this  true?  '  he  said. 

"  Captain  Hathaway  did  not  speak ;  he  drew  back, 
but  his  face  gave  the  answer — he  was  a  traitor. 

"  '  You  black-hearted,  cowardly  cur!'  said  father, 


158  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

as  he  drew  his  sword.  I  screamed,  and  would  have 
rushed  forward  to  part  them,  but  Mary  held  me  so 
tightly  by  the  gown  that,  with  the  baby  in  my  arms, 
I  could  not  move. 

"  '  Let  father  kill  him,'  she  said. 

"  Captain  Hathaway  saw  the  uplifted  sword  and 
no  way  of  escape  ;  he  was  hemmed  in  by  the  cornice 
of  the  mantel.  He  drew  his  pistol  from  his  belt, 
and  with  sure  aim  sent  the  bullet  straight  home. 
Father  threw  up  his  arms  and  fell  forward  on  the 
rug  before  the  fire.  The  blood  gushed  forth  from 
his  side ;  it  gushed  forward  to  Mary's  feet ;  it  crept 
up  her  white  gown  in  red  streaks.  She  did  not  seem 
to  see  it,  or  that  her  feet  were  wet  with  it.  She 
went  to  father,  lifted  his  head,  and  held  it  close 
against  her  heart. 

"  '  Father,'  she  said,  '  father,  speak  to  me.' 

"  He  raised  himself  once,  and  looked  toward 
Captain  Hathaway,  who  was  watching  him  with 
horrified,  dilated  eyes. 

"  '  Curses  on  you,'  he  said — '  on  you  and  yours! 
I  curse  you  with  my  dying  breath — despoiler,  mur 
derer,  liar!'  And  then,  O  Ruth,  dear,  he  fell  on 
his  side,  breathed  once,  and  died." 

Jane  could  not  speak  for  some  moments.     She 


THE    LETTERS    IN    THE   GARRET    CHEST.      159 

put  her  arm  around  the  trembling  girl,  whose  teeth 
chattered  as  though  with  cold,  and  whose  throat 
and  mouth  were  dry  and  parched. 

"  Little  girl,  I  have  told  you  nearly  all  of  the 
dreadful  story.  We  could  not  prosecute  Captain 
Hathaway,  who  had  killed  father  in  self-defense; 
neither  could  we  drag  Mary's  sad  story  through  the 
courts.  He  fled  from  the  country,  and  his  poor  wife 
and  child  were  left  to  my  care.  They  did  not  sur 
vive  many  years.  She  was  an  ignorant  fisherman's 
daughter,  but  a  most  unhappy,  wronged  woman. 

"  For  five  years  Mary  never  left  the  grounds  of 
the  homestead,  and  from  the  night  of  father's  death 
never  saw  her  child  again.  She  disowned  him,  cast 
him  forth,  poor  little  babe !  I  prayed  the  merciful 
God  to  take  him,  and  he  answered  me.  When  he 
died  I  begged  her  to  see  him  ;  'Just  once,'  I  pleaded. 
She  would  not.  So  I  buried  the  little  nameless 
creature  in  a  corner  of  God's-acre,  where  the  kind 
Lord  will  surely  find  him  and  give  him  a  name  for 
all  eternity." 

"  Did  she  ever  see  Captain  Hathaway  again?  " 

"  Yes,  once,  after  many  years.  In  the  meantime 
Mr.  Lorrimer,  a  most  estimable  gentleman,  who  had 
loved  and  wooed  Mary  in  England,  came  to  America 


160  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

to  renew  his  suit.  She  told  him  the  story,  saying 
she  had  no  love  for  any  man.  He  appeared  con 
tent,  however,  and  they  were  married.  Your  father 
was  their  only  child. 

"  Now  she  has  been  a  widow  many  years.  It 
was  some  time  after  Mr.  .Lorrimer's  death  that  she 
met  Captain  Hathaway.  I  was  with  her,  and  we  were 
coming  from  the  village,  and  had  taken  the  back 
road  through  the  woods,  when  suddenly  a  wild- 
looking  man  stepped  before  us  in  the  path,  from 
the  underbrush  that  grew  on  the  side  of  the  way. 
We  knew  him  instantly.  He  threw  himself  on  his 
knees  before  her,  and  grasped  the  hem  of  her  gown. 

"'Mary,'  he  said,  'forgive  me.  If  you  could 
know  what  my  life  has  been  you  would  forgive  me. 
No  one  but  God  knows  the  remorse  I  have  suf 
fered — the  remorse  of  a  murderer.' 

"  She  dragged  her  skirts  away  from  his  hand  and 
hurried  on.  When  I  looked  back  he  was  still  kneel 
ing  in  the  dust  of  the  road  looking  wistfully  after 
us,  with  his  gray  hair  flying  about  his  face.  Why 
he  came  back  to  Lynnport  we  never  knew;  but 
he  did.  With  him  came  a  young  Italian  wife.  By 
her  he  had  two  children  born  to  him  in  his  declin 
ing  years — the  twins,  Jack  and  Kate  Hathaway. 


THE   LETTERS   IN   THE   GARRET   CHEST.      l6l 

He  lived  the  life  of  a  recluse,  and  we  never  saw 
him  again. 

"  As  time  passed,  the  story  which  we  had  en 
deavored  to  keep  as  much  as  possible  from  the  pub 
lic  was  forgotten.  Father's  death  was  ascribed  to 
an  accident.  I  doubt  if  any  one  in  Lynnport  except 
Dr.  Goodyear  knows  the  true  facts.  He  has  been 
our  friend  throughout  it  all.  Shall  we  open  the 
chest  now?  " 

Jane  had  risen  and  lighted  the  candle  which  she 
had  taken  from  the  table  in  the  hall.  She  placed 
it  on  a  dusty  stand  near  by.  It  threw  a  weird  light 
over  the  gloom  of  the  vast  space;  the  articles  that 
filled  the  floor  rose  up  .tall  and  ghostlike  in  the 
dim,  flickering  glow. 

"  Let  me  ask  a  few  questions,"  said  Ruth,  who 
hardly  recognized  her  own  voice ;  it  sounded  hol 
low,  as  though  it  came  from  a  great  distance. 
"Where  was  grandmother  married?" 

"  She  was  married  by  a  dissenting  preacher  at 
the  tavern  on  the  Boston  turnpike  road.  She  wore 
her  wedding-ring  on  a  cord  about  her  neck  ;  her  cer 
tificate  she  kept  hidden.  She  was  a  blind,  deluded 
woman  from  the  very  first.  Captain  Hathaway 
bade  her  keep  their  marriage  secret,  and  she  did. 


1 62  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

The  ring  and  certificate  she  gave  to  me.  I  buried 
them  with  the  baby ;  I  closed  his  little  hand  over 
the  ring." 

Here  Jane  burst  into  a  passionate  fit  of  weeping. 
Ruth  took  the  candle  from  her,  which  she  had  taken 
from  the  stand,  and  she  laid  her  head  down  on  the 
old  chest,  her  frame  shaking  with  irrepressible  sobs. 
Ruth  had  never  seen  her  stern  aunt  give  way  to  her 
feelings  before.  She  smoothed  her  gray  hair,  and 
said,  softly : 

"  Oh,  don't,  Aunt  Jane." 

Presently  she  looked  up  with  a  shamefaced  ex 
pression. 

"  I  have  not  talked  about  it,"  she  said,  "  for  many 
years.  I  feel  as  though  it  changed  my  life ;  I  might 
have  had  a  home  of  my  own  but  for  that.  I  never 
could  trust  any  one,  and  I  grew  soured  and  bitter. 
Oh  yes,  Ruth,  Mary's  troubles  changed  everything 
for  me." 

"  Not  bitter,"  said  Ruth,  gently.  "  You  are  too 
good  a  woman  for  that." 

"  Well,  it  is  all  over,"  said  Jane,  sadly,  "  and  we 
are  both  old  women."  She  unlocked  the  chest  and 
threw  back  the  lid.  Ruth  held  the  candle,  and  the 
two  women  peered  into  the  inclosure.  Then  Jane 


THE   LETTERS    IN   THE   GARRET   CHEST.      163 

leaned  over  and  brought  forth  a  package  of  letters 
yellow  with  time. 

"These  are  the  letters,"  she  said,  "that  Captain 
Hathaway  wrote  Mary  during  the  year  she  thought 
herself  his  wife.  He  was  away  from  Lynnport  much 
of  the  time. 

"  This,"  she  said,  drawing  forth  a  military  coat  of 
buff  and  blue,  "is  the  coat  father  wore  the  night  he 
was  killed.  Look!"  She  held  up  the  garment  to 
the  light.  Across  the  buff  vest  was  a  dull  stain. 

Ruth  gave  a  little  cry  of  horror.  "  Oh,  why  did 
you  keep  that?  "  she  said. 

"  Mary  wished  it — said  it  was  a  reminder;  if  ever 
she  forgot  she  would  come  up  here,  take  it  out,  and 
look  at  the  stain  of  blood.  But  she  never  forgot  or 
forgave." 

Ruth  said  nothing.  She  handed  the  letters  back 
to  Jane. 

"  You  do  not  wish  to  read  them  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Ruth,  "  I  know  enough.  The  letters 
are  no  doubt  filled  with  vows  of  love  and  devotion. 
Knowing  his  promises  ended  as  they  did,  why 
should  I  wish  to  read  them?  " 

Jane  closed  and  locked  the  chest.  Together  they 
went  down  the  stairs  to  the  light  and  warmth  of  the 


1 64  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

hall  below.  It  was  then  for  the  first  time  that  Jane 
looked  closely  at  Ruth,  who  was  deathly  pale ;  even 
her  lips  were  blue,  and  her  eyes  had  a  metallic  glit 
ter  in  their  usually  soft  depths. 

"  It  has  frightened  you,"  said  Jane.  "  I  am  so 
thankful,  Ruth,  you  did  not  allow  yourself  to  be 
come  too  deeply  interested  in  Captain  Hathaway ; 
the  story  would  have  been  so  much  harder  for  you 
to  hear.  I  do  not  feel  that  his  father's  sins  should 
be  visited  upon  him — far  be  it  from  me  to  judge  any 
man — but  you  can  see  how  impossible  it  would  be 
for  Mary  to  consent  to  a  marriage  between  you." 

At  these  words  Ruth  turned  fiercely  upon  her 
aunt. 

"  The  story  has  made  no  difference  to  me.  He 
is  another  man;  this  is  another  age.  He  knows 
nothing  of  it,  or  he  would  never  have  come  here." 

Jane  stood  aghast  at  this  passionate  outburst. 

"  Do  not  say  this  to  your  grandmother,"  she  said, 
sternly. 

Ruth  did  not  reply.  She  went  rapidly  down  the 
staircase  and  into  the  drawing-room,  where  Mrs. 
Lorrimer -still  sat  before  the  fireplace.  The  candles 
had  not  been  lighted,  but  the  fire  made  a  center  of 
glowing  color,  and  Mrs.  Lorrimer's  face  showed  quite 


THE    LETTERS    IN   THE    GARRET    CHEST.      165 

plainly  from  out  its  surroundings  of  white  hair  and 
soft  laces.  Ruth  went  straight  to  her  and  put  her 
arms  about  her  neck. 

"Dear  grandmother,"  she  said,  "you  have  suf 
fered  much  and  been  deeply  wronged.  I  will  never 
leave  you  while  you  live;  but  I  shall  love  Jack  all 
my  life.  Sometime,  perhaps  years  hence,  if  he  will 
wait  for  me,  I  shall  marry  him." 

Mrs.  Lorrimer  leaned  over  and  took  the  girl's 
face  between  her  hands. 

"You  care  for  him  very  much,  Ruth?"  she 
said. 

"  Yes,"  said  Ruth,  simply. 

"  Time  will  make  a  difference,  my  child.  He  will 
go  away — I  am  told  his  ship  sails  to-morrow — and 
you  will  not  see  him  for  years.  I  am  content,  Ruth, 
with  your  promise.  We  will  say  no  more  of  this 
sad  story ;  you  will  soon  be  my  little  light-hearted 
girl  again." 

At  the  words  "his  ship  sails  to-morrow"  an  agony 
smote  Ruth.  She  was  to  have  gone  with  him.  To 
night  she  must  meet  him,  tell  the  story,  and — and — 
bid  him  good-by.  She  clasped  her  small  hands  to 
gether  till  the  nails  sunk  into  the  tender  flesh.  He 
would  be  waiting  for  her  at  the  hollow,  on  the  old 


1 66  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

back  road  to  the  village.  Everything  was  ready  for 
their  flight. 

A  terrible  temptation  assailed  her.  Why  should 
she  not  go  with  him  ?  Life  was  short ;  why  should 
she  not  grasp  her  happiness?  Why  should  she 
thrust  it  aside  ? 

The  temptation  passed.  No,  she  had  given  her 
word,  and  duty  and  honor  were  due  her  grandmother. 

Jack  would  wait  for  her,  she  knew,  and  sometime 
come  for  her.  They  were  both  young;  the  years 
would  not  take  long  to  pass  away.  As  for  his 
father's  deed,  she  could  not  visit  that  upon  him. 
If  she  had  known  it  long  ago  things  would  have 
been  different ;  she  would  have  been  too  deeply 
prejudiced  to  have  done  aught  but  scorn  him.  In 
innocence  she  had  given  her  love  ;  she  had  no  power 
to  take  it  back.  His  father  had  died  a  broken,  con 
trite  man,  haunted  by  the  ghost  of  the  man  he  had 
slain.  Should  Jack  suffer  for  his  father's  sins?  No. 
It  was  an  awful  fate  that  had  led  that  sin  home  to 
her  family  a  second  time,  but  it  was  too  late  now ; 
the  fiat  had  gone  forth;  she  had  given  what  she 
could  never  recall. 


CHAPTER   X. 

THE    PARTING. 

IT  was  ten  o'clock  that  night  when  Ruth  stole 
softly  and  stealthily  down  the  back  staircase  of  the 
manor-house  and  out  into  the  night.  Everything 
was  still  about  the  house.  People  kept  early  hours 
in  those  days ;  the  maids  were  in  their  beds,  and  the 
only  light  that  showed  in  the  darkened  front  of  the 
mansion  was  in  Mrs.  Lorrimer's  apartment.  Ruth 
knew  her  grandmother  was  a  poor  sleeper.  Since 
her  recent  illness  she  had  been  in  the  habit  of  rising 
and  reading,  sometimes  till  the  morning  hours.  The 
outline  of  her  figure  reflected  upon  the  curtain  as 
she  walked  slowly  about  her  room,  and  her  once 
tall,  stately  form  looked  bent  and  stooping.  Ruth 
stood  an  instant  and  looked  up  at  the  window. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  I  will  never  leave  her  while  she 
lives.  Jack  must  wait." 

167 


1 68  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

Then  she  passed  rapidly  down  the  avenue,  thence 
through  the  gates  to  the  highway. 

The  place  of  meeting  had  been  selected  in  the 
loneliness  of  the  seldom-used  back  road,  to  avoid 
the  chance  encounter  of  any  acquaintance,  particu 
larly  of  Dr.  Goodyear,  who  frequently  made  late 
calls  upon  the  scattered  inhabitants  of  the  town. 

Ruth  sped  over  the  ground  rapidly,  her  long  cloak 
clasped  tightly  about  her,  for  it  had  grown  very  cold. 

The  stars  twinkled  brightly  in  the  frosty  air,  and 
the  moonlight  lay  upon  the  ground  in  brilliant  white 
patches.  She  had  only  a  short  distance  to  walk  on 
the  main  road,  then  she  turned  into  the  grass-grown 
lane  of  the  seldom-used  thoroughfare.  As  she 
neared  the  hollow,  where  the  swamp-lilies  and 
sweet-flag  grew  in  great  profusion,  a  well-known 
figure  stepped  from  some  bushes  by  the  roadside, 
and  hurried  with  outstretched  arms  to  meet  her. 
It  was  Jack,  who  clasped  the  little  trembling  form 
in  his  arms  and  rained  kisses  on  her  face. 

"  My  brave  little  girl!"  he  said.  "  So  you  gave 
them  the  slip,  did  you?  Where  is  your  baggage? 
Couldn't  bring  it,  hey?  Well,  never  mind;  we'll 
get  the  things  in  Boston.  You  ought  to  see  your 
locker  on  board  the  brig ;  it's  the  cosiest  berth  on 


THE    PARTING.  169 

any  ship  afloat,  though  not  good  enough  for  you, 
Ruth,  not  good  enough  for  you." 

Ruth  released  herself  from  his  arms  and  drew 
away  from  him.  Her  agitation  was  so  great  that 
she  thought  she  should  have  fallen  at  his  feet.  She 
leaned  heavily  against  the  trunk  of  a  tree  near  by, 
and  placed  one  hand  over  her  heart.  She  thought 
she  could  hear  its  rapid  beating. 

Jack  was  watching  her  sharply,  with  a  mystified 
air. 

"Jack,"  she  said,  hoarsely — the  words  seemed 
wrung  from  her  in  a  very  agony  of  feeling — "  I 
cannot  go  with  you  ;  I  dare  not." 

"  Dare  not,  will  not  go  with  me,  Ruth  ?  You 
cannot  break  your  promise,"  he  said,  sharply. 

"  I  must  break  my  promise ;  I  made  it  in  igno 
rance.  I  have  heard  the  reasons  for  their  opposition 
to  our  marriage.  I  repeat,  I  dare  not  go  with  you ; 
my  duty  is  here." 

"  You  are  crazed,  Ruth.  Do  you  know  you  are 
breaking  your  solemn  word,  almost  a  vow?" 

"  I  know ;  yet  it  is  better  broken  than  kept.  Do 
not  make  this  harder  than  it  is,  Jack.  You  will  think 
as  I  do  when  you  hear  all.  You  will  say  I  have 
done  right.  I  have  come  here  this  night  to  tell  you 


I/O  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

the  story  I  have  heard  to-day.  It  has  changed  our 
plans ;  it  must  change  them — it  could  not  be  other 
wise." 

She  was  working  herself  into  a  frenzy  as  the  con 
viction  became  forced  upon  her  that  even  in  the  face 
of  what  she  was  about  to  tell  he  would  still  be  opposed 
to  her  decision. 

He  watched  her  gloomily,  his  face  set  and  stern 
in  the  glow  of  the  moonlight  that  fell  across  it. 

Then  Ruth,  with  bowed  head  and  clasped  hands, 
told  the  sad  story  of  her  grandmother's  girlhood 
and  his  father's  treachery  and  cruelty.  Jack  did 
not  interrupt  her;  he  hardly  appeared  to  show  the 
interest  an  ordinary  auditor  would  have  felt  in  such 
a  tragic  disclosure.  Yet  he  felt  it  deeply,  felt  it 
acutely ;  it  cut  like  a  knife  into  his  heart.  Now 
much  that  was  mysterious  in  his  boyhood  was  made 
clear :  his  father's  silence  and  moroseness ;  his  sleep 
less  nights,  when  his  cries  and  groans  and  prayers 
reechoed  through  the  stillness  of  their  cottage  upon 
the  island ;  his  young  mother's  fear  of  her  gloomy 
husband ;  and  the  shunning  of  his  fellow-beings, 
from  whom  he  fled  as  from  a  pestilence. 

Yes,  it  was  true ;  he  could  not  doubt  it  in  the 
face  of  such  evidence.  Ruth's  sweet  face  was 


THE    PARTING.  I  71 

turned  to  him,  her  cloak  thrown  back;  her  white 
neck  gleamed  like  snow,  her  hands  were  clasped, 
and  her  voice  was  low  and  pleading  as  she  finished 
her  story. 

"  Now  you  see,  Jack,  why  we  must  part  for  a 
while.  I  could  not  marry  you  while  grandmother 
lives  ;  I  could  not  break  her  heart.  She  has  suffered 
much.  She  was  proud,  dear ;  it  was  harder  for  her. 
She  had  been  beautiful,  and  beloved  by  many  noble 
gentlemen,  and  might  have  been  a  duchess  had  she 
wished.  She  gave  it  all  up  for  your  father,  and  he 
— he  broke  her  heart." 

Ruth's  voice  ceased  in  a  nervous,  trembling  sob. 

"  I  am  not  my  father,"  said  Jack,  fiercely.  "  He 
was  a  hound,  if  he  was  my  father." 

"  Hush,  hush!"  she  said,  "  he  is  dead ;  and  I  am 
sure,  and  so  is  Aunt  Jane,  that  he  was  truly  con 
trite.  We  must  not  judge  him." 

"  Yet  you  judge  me  by  him,"  he  said.  "  You  cast 
me  forth  for  his  sins.  You  bid  me  tear  out  of  my 
heart  the  love  which  is  all  I  have  to  live  for,  all  that 
is  making  me  a  better  man.  I  had  a  hard  boyhood, 
Ruth ;  it  is  in  me  to  become  a  hard  man.  Save  me 
from  that,  Ruth.  My  God!  you  cannot  give  me 
up!  " 


172  OFF    LYXNPORT    LIGHT. 

At  the  last  sentence  his  voice  rang  out  in  a  cry 
of  vehement  entreaty.  Ruth  shivered  and  trembled 
from  head  to  foot;  in  the  palms  of  her  hands  cold 
perspiration  gathered  in  drops. 

"No,"  she  said;  "I  love  you  and  always  shall; 
but  we  must  wait — a  few  years  is  not  a  lifetime. 
After  grandmother  is  at  rest  I  can  come  to  you.  It 
is  an  awful  fate,  Jack,  that  has  given  us  this  love. 
Once  given  we  cannot  return  it;  would  that  it 
were  possible — it  would  be  so  much  better  for  us 
both.  In  all  nature  it  seems  that  I  should  hate  you 
and  you  should  shun  me." 

He  took  a  step  toward  her,  stood  tall  and  straight 
before  her.  The  moon  had  risen  high  in  the  heavens, 
and  was  shining  full  and  clear  upon  them.  Around 
them  it  was  very  still ;  a  rustle  of  leaves  on  the 
ground,  as  now  and  then  one  fluttered  to  the  earth, 
was  all  that  broke  the  intense  quiet.  Occasionally 
the  call  of  a  night-heron  far  off  toward  the  sea  rang 
out  discordant  and  shrill. 

"  Ruth,"  Jack  said,  "  I  have  thought  it  over  while 
you  have  been  speaking.  Something  tells  me  if  I 
wait  a  few  years  I  shall  wait  forever — that  is,  forever 
as  far  as  this  world  is  concerned.  I  have  decided 
you  must  come  with  me  to-night.  You  are  mine, 


THE    PARTING.  173 

I  am  yours ;  I  will  not  give  you  up.  Let  the  past 
go.  Why  should  we  wreck  our  lives  by  what  hap 
pened  years  ago — something  you  and  I  should 
never  have  known?  No,  Ruth,  we  will  go  away 
from  them  forever,  and  make  a  new  home  in  some 
foreign  country  where  nothing  can  remind  us  of  this 
wretched  story.  We  will  be  happy ;  it  shall  never 
be  spoken  of  between  us." 

"  No,  no,"  she  said,  "  I  cannot  go.  God  would 
never  prosper  us." 

"You  will  not  go?"  he  said,  vehemently. 

"  No,  I  dare  not,"  she  whispered. 

"Is  that  all  you  have  to  say?  You  renounce 
me?  "  he  cried. 

"  No,  I  do  not  renounce  you  ;  I  ask  you  to  wait." 

"  I  will  not  wait.  You  must  go  with  me  now — 
now,  I  say." 

"  I  will  not  go,  Jack,"  she  replied,  firmly. 

He  made  a  move  toward  her  as  though  he  would 
have  carried  her  by  force,  then  hesitated. 

"  It  is  good-by  forever,  then,"  he  cried.  "  You 
have  thrown  me  over  for  my  father's  sins,  you  have 
made  me  suffer  for  him.  You  have  never  loved  me  : 
you  have  a  cold  heart,  Ruth ;  you  lied  to  me  when 
you  said  you  loved  me.  You  gave  me  your  prom- 


OFF    LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

ise,  only  to  break  it  at  your  pleasure.  You  deceived 
me,  took  all  I  had  to  give,  only  to  fling  it  worthless 
into  my  face  again." 

"  O  Jack,  for  pity's  sake,  spare  me !  I  did  love 
you,  I  do —  " 

She  held  out  her  trembling  hands  as  if  to  ward 
off  a  blow.  He  did  not  heed  her. 

"We  will  part,  then.  You  will  never  see  me  in 
Lynnport  again ;  when  I  go  this  time  I  go  for 
ever.  Mark  that,  Ruth ;  I  will  never  see  you  again 
if  you  bid  me  go."  He  waited.  "  Shall  I  go?  "  he 
said,  taking  her  in  his  arms  and  looking  down  into 
her  face.  "Tell  me,  Ruth,  tell  me,"  he  said. 

"  I  cannot  go  with  you,"  she  replied. 

He  thrust  her  roughly  from  him.  She  would 
have  fallen  had  she  not  grasped  the  branch  of  a 
tree  that  fell  across  the  roadside.  She  was  watch- 
in'g  him  like  some  hunted  animal,  her  breath  coming 
in  gasps.  Could  this  icy  coldness  that  was  creeping 
over  her  be  the  agony  of  death — this  trance  that 
froze  the  words  upon  her  tongue? 

Jack  looked  once  toward  her,  a  long  look  of  de 
spair  and  anger. 

"  Good-by,  Ruth ;  you  willed  it  so ;  it  is  forever. 
I  shall  keep  my  word ;  you  shall  never  see  my  face 


THE    PARTING.  175 

again."  That  was  all  he  said,  then  he  turned  and 
went  from  her.  She  watched  him  till  the  shadows 
of  night  hid  him  from  her  gaze,  then  leaned  forward 
and  listened  till  the  echo  of  his  footsteps  died  away. 
Without  a  sound  she  drew  her  cloak  about  her  and 
sank  down  upon  the  ground  in  the  darkness. 

She  heard  nothing;  she  had  forgotten  her  sur 
roundings.  Time  was  swallowed  up,  obliterated,  in 
the  intensity  of  her  great  sorrow.  Only  one  thing 
stood  prominently  before  her  mind  :  Jack  had  gone, 
and  forever.  She  would  never  see  him  again — she 
knew  he  had  left  her  never  to  return,  and  he  would 
keep  his  word.  Her  precious  love-story  had  been 
shattered  and  destroyed  by  her  own  hand.  She 
had  ruined  her  life,  and  had  no  one  to  blame  but 
herself.  Yet  could  she  have  done  otherwise?  Was 
any  other  course  possible? 

She  crouched  in  the  chilliness  of  the  frosty  night, 
a  little  huddled  heap  of  mental  misery.  The  leaves, 
driven  by  a  rising  wind,  fell  about  her  and  partially 
covered  her.  She  heeded  nothing — neither  the 
chilliness  nor  the  rising  wind. 

On  the  sequestered  back  road  where  the  meet 
ing  between  the  lovers  had  taken  place  stood  a  few 
farm-houses,  situated  at  considerable  distance  from 


176  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

one  another.  In  one  of  them  a  woman  had  been  taken 
suddenly  ill.  Her  husband  had  hurried  across  lots 
to  the  village  for  Dr.  Goodyear.  The  doctor  made 
his  call,  and  on  returning  deemed  it  the  wiser  course 
to  leave  the  rough,  badly  kept  shore  road  and  enter 
the  grassy  lane,  where  the  mare  could  keep  her  feet 
safely  from  ruts  and  mud-holes. 

The  doctor  had  been  provoked  with  his  patient, 
who  had  gotten  him  up  in  the  middle  of  the  night 
merely  for  some  ailment  which  the  family  could 
have  relieved.  He  was  grumbling  aloud  as  he 
drove  slowly  through  the  grass-grown  road.  Sud 
denly  the  mare  reared  upon  her  hind  feet,  then 
stood  still,  her  ears  twitching  nervously. 

"  Hoity-toity,  old  lady!"  said  the  doctor,  craning 
his  head  forward.  "  At  your  age,  too !  Cutting  up 
didoes,  hey?  " 

At  this  instant  a  gray  heap  moved  by  the  side  of 
the  road,  and  the  doctor's  face  was  a  study. 

"For  gracious  sake!"  he  said,  "what  can  that 
be?"  Springing  from  the  gig,  he  went  forward. 
The  mare  appeared  satisfied ;  she  stood  still — she 
knew  a  firm  hand  was  on  the  rein.  The  doctor 
leaned  over  the  figure  in  the  road,  then  drew  back 
aghast.  "  It's  Ruth  Lorrimer,"  he  said.  Without 


THE    PARTING.  177 

another  word  he  lifted  her  from  the  ground,  and, 
putting  his  arm  about  her,  guided  her  steps  to 
the  carriage.  "  Come,"  he  said,  "  I  must  take  you 
home." 

"  No,  no,  not  home,"  she  said ;  "  not  there — not 
yet.  Take  me  to  Kate,  take  me  to  Kate.  She 
will  understand ;  she  knew  we  were  going  away  to 
gether.  He  has  gone,  and  I — I  am  left  alone." 

Dr.  Goodyear  did  not  reply.  He  understood  it 
all ;  her  few  words  were  sufficient.  He  lifted  her 
gently  into  the  gig  and  turned  his  horse's  head 
back  over  the  road  upon  which  he  had  come,  fear 
ing  a  possible  recognition  upon  the  highway. 

It  was  growing  late ;  in  fact,  the  morning  hours 
were  rapidly  approaching.  The  moon  and  stars 
were  showing  dim ;  a  pale  streak  of  dull  gray  was 
visible  in  the  east. 

Mrs.  Munn  had  slept  poorly.  Kate  also  had  been 
restless.  She  knew  her  brother's  plans  and  hopes ; 
her  thoughts  were  too  intent  upon  him  and  Ruth 
for  repose.  Mrs.  Munn  had  stayed  with  her  and 
snatched  "cat  naps,"  as  she  called  them,  upon  the 
sofa  in  her  room. 

When  at  daybreak  Mrs.  Munn  distinguished  the 
sound  of  wheels  upon  the  road,  and  heard  them  stop 


I  78  OFF    LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

abruptly  before  the  cottage,  she  sprang  from  the 
lounge,  and  darting  to  the  window  looked  out  be 
tween  the  closed  slats  of  the  shutters. 

"  For  the  land's  sake ! "  she  whispered,  "  if  it  ain't 
Miss  Ruth  and  Dr.  Goodyear.  What  can  it  mean  ?  " 
Regardless  of  her  prodigious  night-cap  and  short 
flannel-  wrapper,  after  glancing  at  the  bed  to  assure 
herself  that  Miss  Kate  was  asleep,  she  hurried  from 
the  room,  down  the  stairs,  and  out  into  the  gray 
morning  light. 

Dr.  Goodyear  was  leading  Ruth  into  the  cottage. 
She  walked  slowly ;  and  she  did  not  seem  to  see  any 
one ;  her  eyes  were  fixed  intently.  She  was  look 
ing  upon  another  picture — Jack's  hard-set  face  when 
he  said  good-by. 

Mrs.  Munn  was  too  sensible  to  ask  questions. 
She  took  Ruth's  hand  in  hers,  and  led  her  into  the 
guest-chamber,  which  was  upon  the  ground  floor  of 
the  cottage. 

Ruth  mechanically  obeyed  her  in  all  things.  Pres 
ently  she  was  lying  upon  the  bed  in  one  of  Kate's 
soft  silk  wrappers.  She  had  not  spoken  since  enter 
ing  the  house.  She  did  not  speak  now — she  only 
lay  there  very  still  and  white,  her  eyes  wide  open, 
looking  fixedly  before  her. 


THE    PARTING.  179 

Mrs.  Munn  left  her  and  joined  the  doctor,  who 
was  pacing  restlessly  backward  and  forward  in  the 
narrow  entry-hall.  He  appeared  careworn  and  tired 
in  the  early  morning  light  that  was  creeping  in  gray 
and  cold,  displaying  the  outlines  the  darkness  had 
hidden. 

"This  is  a  nice  business,  Mrs.  Munn,"  he  said, 
sternly.  "  So  the  Captain  has  been  urging  Ruth 
to  run  away  from  her  home  ?  "  He  glanced  sharply 
at  Mrs.  Munn. 

Mrs.  Munn  looked  shamefaced  an  instant;  even 
her  night-cap  seemed  to  droop  disconsolately.  Then 
she  faced  the  doctor  defiantly,  and  said : 

"  Yes,  doctor,  the  Captain  did  want  her  to  go 
with  him.  Miss  Kate  and  I  knew  all  about  it  and 
advised  it.  We  wanted  to  see  them  happy." 

"  You  are  foolish  women.  How  could  she  be 
happy  pursuing  such  a  course?  Do  you  know  it 
would  have  killed  Mrs.  Lorrimer?" 

"  She  is  a  proud,  haughty  body,"  replied  Mrs. 
Munn,  with  asperity. 

"  You  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about," 
said  the  doctor.  "  Wait  till  you  know  more  before 
you  give  an  opinion ;  you  have  made  a  great  mis 
take."  He  paused  and  looked  thoughtful  a  moment, 


180  OFF    LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

then  continued :  "  I  want  you  to  go  to  the  home 
stead,  find  Miss  Weston,  and  bring  her  here.  Tell 
her  to  deceive  Mrs.  Lorrimer  as  to  her  errand.  I 
will  go  to  the  stable  and  put  Miss  Kate's  horse  in 
the  gig — the  mare  is  used  up.  Drive  as  fast  as 
you  can — hasten." 

After  a  few  moments  of  preparation  Mrs.  Munn 
was  speeding  the  horse  over  the  highway  to  the 
manor-house. 

Jane  was  aroused  from  sleep  by  the  knocking  of 
Mrs.  Munn's  strong  knuckles  upon  her  bedroom 
door,  she  having  refused  the  maid  permission  to 
carry  any  message.  Miss  Weston  arose,  and  dressed 
hastily  while  Mrs.  Munn  was  acquainting  her  with 
the  details  of  the  unfortunate  affair. 

"The  Captain  did  it  for  the  best,  Miss  Weston," 
she  sobbed,  hysterically.  "  He  couldn't  get  Miss 
Ruth  no  other  way,  and  we  couldn't  see  no  reason 
why  he  shouldn't  marry  her.  Don't  bear  Miss  Kate 
no  ill  feelin'.  Oh  dear,  oh  dear!  this  is  a  sad  world. 
Why  at  the  last  she  didn't  go,  for  the  life  of  me  I 
can't  see.  The  ways  of  Providence  is  past  findin' 
out." 

"  I  know  why  she  did  not  go,  Mrs.  Munn.  Some 
time,  perhaps,  Ruth  will  tell  you.  Poor  child,  she 


THE    PARTING.  l8l 

is  young  to  bear  the  sorrows  which  by  right  others 
should  bear  for  her." 

Mrs.  Lorrimer  was  very  weak  that  morning ;  the 
allusion  to  her  mournful  story  the  night  previous 
had  unnerved  her.  When  Jane  went  to  her  she  said 
she  would  keep  her  room  for  a  few  days.  She  did 
not  ask  for  Ruth,  and  Jane  told  her  she  was  going 
to  the  village  to  see  a  sick  woman — Dr.  Goodyear 
had  sent  for  her. 

When  Jane  entered  the  tiny  guest-chamber  at  the 
cottage  she  was  shocked  at  the  change  a  few  hours 
had  made  in  Ruth's  appearance.  She  looked  old — 
lines  had  deepened  in  her  round  face  and  about  her 
mouth,  and  a  look  of  indifferent  apathy  had  given 
place  to  her  usually  bright,  interested  expression. 

"  She  has  had  a  shock,"  whispered  the  doctor. 
"  Don't  ask  her  questions — wait  till  she  speaks." 

Ruth  did  not  speak  for  three  days.  At  the  end  of 
that  time  she  arose  and  asked  for  Kate,  Mrs.  Munn, 
and  Aunt  Jane — she  had  something  to  tell  them ; 
and  she  told  them  the  whole  story. 

It  was  hard  for  Jane  to  listen  again  to  the  sad 
recital  of  her  sister's  trouble.  She  bore  it  bravely, 
however;  only  now  and  then  a  tear  dropped  into 
her  lap. 


1 82  OFF    LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

Mrs.  Munn  was  sobbing  piteously  when  Ruth 
finished.  Her  apron  was  over  her  head,  and  she 
was  rocking  back  and  forth. 

Kate  sat  still,  her  beautiful,  spiritual  face  white 
as  death. 

"  I  tell  you  this,  Kate,"  Ruth  said,  wearily,  "  that 
you  can  be  my  judge.  Did  I  do  right  to  wreck 
Jack's  life  ?  He  told  me  I  had  ruined  him.  Did  I 
do  right?  Tell  me,  Kate,  tell  me;  you  who  are  so 
near  to  God  must  know.  It  is  the  thought  of  this 
that  makes  it  all  the  harder  for  me." 

Kate  looked  earnestly  upon  the  tearful,  pleading 
face,  then  beckoned  to  her,  and  Ruth  came  and 
knelt  down  beside  her. 

"  Dear,"  she  said,  "  Jack  is  my  brother,  the  dear 
est  tie  I  have  on  earth ;  yet  I  think  you  chose  the 
best  and  only  course.  It  is  a  great  grief  to  you' 
both ;  you  must  live  it  down  and  not  let  it  ruin 
your  life  at  the  outset." 

"  I  care  nothing  for  my  life,"  cried  Ruth,  reck 
lessly — "  only  Jack's.  Will  it  make  him  hard  and 
unhappy?  O  Kate,  will  he  come  back  to  Lynn- 
port?  Not  now — not  for  many  years,  perhaps — 
but  will  he  come  sometime?  " 

For  some  moments  Kate  Hathaway  did  not  reply. 


THE    PARTING.  183 

Her  face  revealed  the  mental  struggle  through  which 
she  was  passing.  She  understood  her  brother  bet 
ter  than  any  one  else  did,  and  knew  he  would  never 
return  to  Lynnport ;  knew  that  probably  they  would 
never  hear  of  him  again.  Yet  it  was  hard  to  tell 
Ruth,  this  poor  little  sorrow-tossed  girl,  struggling 
with  her  first  great  grief;  but  there  was  nothing 
else  to  do. 

"Try  and  forget  him,  dear,"  she  said;  "he  will 
never  come  back." 

Laying  her  head  against  Kate's  chair,  Ruth  burst 
into  a  torrent  of  uncontrollable  sobs. 

Mrs.  Munn  would  have  gone  to  her  and  lifted  her. 

Kate  said,  "  No,  it  is  better  for  her;  it  is  nature's 
relief." 

At  the  close  of  the  day  Ruth  returned  to  the 
manor-house.  When  she  stood  by  Jane  in  the  par 
lor  of  the  cottage,  bidding  Kate  good-by,  she  said  : 

"  It  is  all  over,  Kate — my  old  life,  I  mean.  I 
shall  never  know  what  it  is  to  be  as  happy  again, 
or — or — as  miserable.  We  will  not  speak  of  it  any 
more." 

"  No,"  said  Kate,  simply. 

Mrs.  Munn  had  been  a  wretched  woman  for  the 
past  three  days.  Possessing  a  strong  sense  of  jus- 


1 84  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

tice,  her  cruel  condemnation  of  Mrs.  Lorrimer  had 
filled  her  with  remorse.  She  had  spent  many  hours 
of  the  night  praying  that  her  own  hard  heart  might 
be  softened.  "  Poor  lady,"  she  thought,  "  poor  lady ! 
Munn  was  bad,  goodness  knows,  but  I  hadn't  that 
to  suffer." 

When  Jane  was  about  taking  her  departure  with 
Ruth  they  paused  awhile  in  the  front  garden.  Mrs. 
Munn  gathered  a  small  bouquet  of  autumn  flowers 
for  Ruth.  "  The  Captain  planted  them,"  she  whis 
pered.  Mrs.  Munn's  face  was  flushed;  her  hands 
trembled  with  extreme  agitation. 

"  Miss  Weston,"  she  gasped,  "  I  want  to  ask  your 
pardon.  I've  said  hard  things  about  you  and  Mrs. 
Lorrimer ;  it  was  before  I  knew  what  I  know  now. 
I'm  a  broken-hearted  woman  about  advisin'  the 
Captain  and  all.  I  said  the  Lord  would  lay  his 
hand  heavy  on  her,  and  He's  laid  it  heavy  on  me 
instead.  I'm  sorry,  Miss  Weston,  and  you  won't 
bear  me  no  ill  will,  will  you,  or  Miss  Kate?"  She 
paused. 

"No,  Mrs.  Munn,"  said  Jane,  kindly.  "Think 
no  more  about  it." 

"  Well,  I'm  glad ;  and  it's  the  last  time,  if  I  live 
to  be  as  old  as  Methuselah  or  any  of  the  other 


THE    PARTING.  185 

prophets,  I'll  ever  meddle  in  a  love-affair  again — no, 
sir,  not  for  the  wealth  of  the  Indies.  Though  I  did 
it  for  the  best — I  thought  they  would  be  happy." 

Ruth  did  not  speak  as  they  drove  over  the  old 
familiar  road.  She  looked  toward  the  sea  and  won 
dered  where  his  ship  was.  Only  three  days  since 
he  went  away ;  it  seemed  a  year,  so  much  had  hap 
pened.  Was  she  only  three  days  older?  Why,  she 
was  a  woman  now ;  three  days  ago  she  was  only  a 
little  girl. 

She  watched  the  golden-rod  and  the  Michaelmas 
daisies  on  the  roadside,  wondering  if  they  grew  in 
the  countries  where  Jack  was  going ;  and  if  they 
did,  when  he  saw  them,  would  he  think  of  her  and 
Lynnport  ?  "  No,"  she  thought,  sadly,  "  he  will  have 
hard,  bitter  thoughts  of  me ;  he  will  never  under 
stand  the  truth." 

They  passed  into  the  shaded  avenue.  Ruth 
looked  back  as  the  old  man  from  the  lodge  closed 
the  gates  after  them. 

"  He  is  closing  the  gates,  Aunt  Jane,"  she  said, 
softly  ;  "  closing  the  old  life,  and,"  with  a  wan  smile, 
"  beginning  the  new." 


CHAPTER  XI. 

RUTH  TAKES  UP  HER  CROSS. 

RUTH  took  up  her  cross.  A  very  heavy  cross  it 
was,  and  weightily  it  rested  upon  the  young  shoul 
ders  which  hitherto  had  borne  but  the  light  pressure 
of  a  happy  existence. 

She  had  known  no  sorrows  in  her  sheltered, 
petted  girlhood ;  no  cruel  winds  of  misfortune  had 
been  allowed  to  blow  upon  her  tender  frame.  Had 
it  been  possible,  had  circumstances  been  different, 
the  sad  story  she  had  been  forced  to  hear  would 
have  been  kept  from  her  through  life.  Mrs.  Lor- 
rimer  and  Jane  would  have  taken  the  tragic  secret 
to  their  graves  with  them — the  grief  of  their  gen 
eration,  not  hers. 

The  irony  of  fate  had  decreed  it  otherwise. 
Twice  had  the  bolt  fallen  in  the  same  place ;  twice 
had  it  struck,  and  fatally. 

Mrs.  Lorrimer  knew  nothing  of  the  elopement 
1 86 


RUTH  TAKES  UP  HER  CROSS.       1 87 

escapade.  Why  should  she  know  it?  It  would 
deeply  grieve  her,  and  she  was  hastening  rapidly, 
with  weakened  feet,  toward  the  swift- flowing  river 
that  guards  that  land  of  peace.  If  God  willed,  she 
should  know  all  in  that  new  life ;  so  be  it — but  not 
here,  not  here ;  so  argued  Ruth  and  Jane. 

Mrs.  Lorrimer,  as  time  weakened  her  faculties, 
appeared  to  view  things  in  a  different  light — the 
light  that  belittles  the  affairs  of  man,  that  dwarfs 
the  one-time  mighty  question  of  existence,  that 
makes  the  longest  life  as  but  a  single  day,  the 
greatest  sorrow  as  a  passing  cloud. 

Though  she  never  repented  the  obstacles  that  had 
been  placed  in  the  way  of  Ruth's  marriage,  she  was 
filled  with  deep  sympathy  for  the  sad,  silent  girl 
who  went  so  noiselessly  about  the  old  house,  never 
singing,  or  running  up  and  down  the  wide  staircase 
with  Tetsy  at  her  heels,  or  laughing  in  the  old, 
merry,  girlish  way. 

Not  that  Ruth  was  idle — oh  no ;  she  was  con 
stantly  employed,  feverishly  seeking  occupation. 

People  take  sorrows  so  differently  in  this  world. 
Temperaments,  environments,  inherited  traits,  must 
be  taken  into  account  when  gauging  the  depths  of 
grief  and  its  possible  effect. 


1 88  OFF    LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

With  Ruth  it  ran  a  peculiar  course :  it  made  her 
reserved,  sensitive,  and  melancholy.  Unlike  some 
young,  impulsive  natures,  she  did  not  seek  solace 
in  religion — quite  the  contrary ;  she  fled  from  it ;  it 
could  not  help  her,  she  said  bitterly  to  herself.  She 
and  Jack  had  tried  to  do  the  best  they  could,  yet 
God  had  no  pity  on  them ;  He  had  parted  them. 
Now  she  did  not  care  what  became  of  her.  She 
grew  hard,  nursed  and  petted  her  trouble,  mourning 
over  it  in  secret,  yet  jealously  guarding  it,  allowing 
no  one  to  speak  of  it.  It  was  her  grief;  she  re 
sented  all  interference. 

Thus  a  year  passed.  Another  fall,  with  the 
Michaelmas  daisies  and  the  golden- rod  blooming 
thickly  in  the  hedges,  came  to  Lynnport.  It  was 
one  bright  morning  in  the  early  part  of  October — 
such  a  morning  as  comes  with  the  lovely  New  Eng 
land  autumns.  The  blue  haze  was  on  the  hills;  a 
yellow  mist  hung  above  the  harbor,  the  boats  gleam 
ing  through  its  amber  light  as  they  rocked  lazily  on 
the  quiet  tide.  Along  the  shore  flew  the  wild  ducks 
and  plover,  and  the  marshes  were  full  of  quail  and 
woodcock. 

Ruth  was  walking  along  the  village  street  that 
pleasant  October  morning.  She  was  alone,  and  the 


RUTH    TAKES    UP    HER    CROSS.  189 

tears  were  in  her  eyes  as  she  watched  a  full -rigged 
merchantman  on  the  horizon,  all  sails  set,  her  course 
toward  the  east.  She  stood  a  moment  gazing  sea 
ward  till  it  faded  like  a  white  mist  in  the  distance. 

An  old  wharf,  on  which  a  number  of  fishermen 
were  sitting,  their  lines  dangling  in  the  water  before 
them,  lay  just  to  the  right  of  the  street.  Boxes  and 
barrels  were  scattered  upon  the  wharf,  affording 
comfortable  seats.  She  knew  most  of  the  men ; 
she  was  tired,  and  went  forward  and  seated  herself 
upon  one  of  the  upturned  boxes.  A  torn  sail  was 
drying  near  by,  and  some  fish  just  caught  were  lying 
on  the  ground  at  her  feet.  The  men  turned  around 
as  she  approached,  and  doffed  their  caps.  She  smiled 
and  said  "  Good  morning,"  then  quietly  watched 
the  fishing. 

From  her  position  on  the  wharf  she  could  see  a 
great  distance  along  the  shore  ;  in  fact,  almost  to  the 
harbor's  mouth.  Back  of  her  lay  the  steep  streets 
of  the  town,  its  church  perched  upon  the  jutting 
headland.  She  would  not  look  that  way — what  had 
she  to  do  with  a  church?  She  had  never  entered 
one  since  Jack  went  away,  and  did  not  think  she 
ever  would  again.  Presently,  upon  the  sands  at 
some  distance,  she  detected  a  little  figure  advanc- 


OFF    LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

ing  slowly  along  the  water's  edge.  Ruth  could  not 
distinguish  it  clearly;  it  stooped  constantly,  and 
appeared  to  be  gathering  something  from  the  stony 
beach. 

"Jim  Benton,"  she  said,  turning  to  one  of  the 
fishermen,  "  who  is  that?  "  pointing  as  she  spoke  to 
the  slowly  advancing  figure. 

The  man  looked  in  the  direction  she  indicated, 
then  burst  into  a  loud  laugh. 

"That?"  he  said— "  that's  Timothy's  Joe;  and 
by  thunder!  if  he  isn't  a-crabbin'." 

"What!  you  don't  mean  little  Joe?"  she  said. 
"Why,  I  didn't  know  he  could  walk." 

"  No  more  he  can,  Miss  Lorrimer.  He  don't 
walk,  he  kinder  creeps ;  sometimes  for  months  he 
can't  even  do  that.  He's  some  better  now.  We 
fishermen  told  him,  we  says,  '  Now,  little  Joe,  when 
you're  right  smart  you  gather  fiddler-crabs  on  the 
shore,  and  we'll  give  you  a  cent  a  dozen.'  We 
likes  them  for  bait — first-rate  bait  for  blackfish  and 
flounders." 

Ruth  did  not  speak ;  the  sad  story  of  poor  little 
Joe's  life  was  passing  through  her  mind.  Cursed 
with  drinking,  improvident  parents,  his  very  baby 
hood  had  been  a  lesson  in  hardship,  a  constant  seek- 


RUTH    TAKES    UP    HER    CROSS.  IQI 

ing  for  refuge  from  blows  and  starvation.  Then  his 
mother  died,  and  his  father  went  to  sea  before  the 
mast.  The  poor  little  mite  embarked  as  scullion-boy 
in  the  cook's  galley,  and  was  nicknamed  "  Timothy's 
Joe."  One  night,  in  a  drunken  brawl  on  board  ship, 
his  father,  maddened,  crazed,  struck  the  shrinking, 
cowering  lad,  felling  him  to  the  deck,  then  kicked 
him  mercilessly.  When  Joe  awoke  to  consciousness 
days  after,  in  the  ward  of  a  hospital  in  a  foreign 
land,  he  found  one  limb  had  been  amputated  and 
the  other  was  twisted  and  distorted.  His  father 
died  on  the  night  that  he  maimed  his  boy — delirium 
tremens,  the  men  said — and  they  buried  him  at  sea. 

By  and  by  Joe  was  sent  back  to  Lynnport.  He 
had  lived  for  the  past  two  years  with  his  grand 
mother,  who  did  washing  for  a  living.  He  was 
thirteen  years  old,  but  so  small  and  misshapen  that 
he  appeared  but  eight. 

Jim  went  back  to  his  fishing,  and  Ruth,  with 
deep  sympathy  in  her  eyes,  watched  the  boy  gradu 
ally  approaching.  She  could  distinguish  perfectly 
his  peculiar  gait  as  he  drew  near.  He  had  a  crutch 
in  one  hand,  and  with  the  deformed  foot  pushed 
himself  along  with  a  sidewise,  crablike  motion. 
Around  his  waist,  suspended  by  a  cord,  hung  a  tin 


IQ2  OFF    LYNXPORT    LIGHT. 

kettle,  in  which  every  now  and  then  he  deposited  a 
wriggling  object,  then  a  small  layer  of  seaweed. 
Presently  he  came  up  the  bank  and  stepped  upon 
the  wharf.  He  did  not  see  Ruth;  instead,  went 
forward  to  the  men. 

"Say,  fellers,"  he  said,  "I've  got  a  lot  of  crabs 
— fine  fat  ones.  Look  at  that!"  and  he  held  up  a 
wriggling  specimen.  "  I've  got  about  four  dozen ; 
don't  you  want  'em?  "  he  continued,  wistfully.  "  It 
means  four  cents,  and  I've  been  workin'  a  good 
while.  It's  hard  diggin'  around  them  stones." 

"Yes,  we  wants  them,  Joe,"  said  Jim,  "and  we 
gives  you  an  order  for  all  you  git,  don't  we,  mates?  " 

"  Aye,  aye,"  said  the  men.  "  Joe's  the  big  crab- 
merchant  of  Lynnport." 

The  boy  laughed — such  a  ringing,  hearty  laugh 
that  Ruth  started.  Could  he  be  happy  ?  What 
could  make  him  happy?  she  wondered.  Then  he 
turned  and  saw  her,  and  leaning  on  his  crutch  took 
off  his  ragged  cap  and  blushed. 

"Come  here,  Joe,"  said  Ruth;  "I  want  to  talk 
to  you."  The  boy  came  slowly  forward  and  stood 
opposite  her,  his  small  pinched  face  close  beside 
hers.  "  I  wanted  to  ask  you,"  she  said,  "  why  you 
laughed  just  now.  Are  you  happy?" 


RUTH    TAKES    UP    HER    CROSS.  193 

He  hesitated.  "  I  ain't  always  happy,"  he  said, 
shifting  his  cap  from. one  hand  to  the  other.  Then, 
apologetically,  "  But  I  tries  to  be — oh !  I  tries  to 
be." 

"When  are  you  unhappy?"  she  said,  kindly. 

"  In  the  winters,  when  granny  can't  get  much 
work,  and  granny  and  me  is  cold  sometimes;  and 
there  ain't  no  crabbin'  in  winter,  you  know.  Then 
when  the  pain  is  bad  I  ain't  happy — the  pain  in 
my  back.  The  doctors  say  when  dad  kicked  me 
he  hurt  my  spine." 

"  But  you  say  you  try  to  be  happy?  "  she  said. 

"  Oh  yes,  I  tries  hard.  It  is  only  sometimes  I 
gives  way — not  often.  It  is  right  to  try  and  be 
happy,  you  know." 

Ruth  did  not  speak  immediately ;  she  was  think 
ing  of  Joe's  reason  for  happiness — because  it  was 
right ;  then  she  said : 

"  Who  first  started  you  in  the  crabbing  business  ?  " 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you  how  that  was.  You  see,  I 
couldn't  do  nothin'.  I  wasn't  any  use  to  nobody ; 
I  could  only  set  around  on  the  wharf  all  day.  One 
day  some  boys  got  a-fightin'  on  the  wharf,  and 
they  pushed  me  and  I  fell  overboard.  Captain 
Jack  Hathaway — did  you  know  him?  he  was  cap- 


194  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

tain  of  his  own  ship,  he  was — he  came  along,  and  he 
threw  off  his  coat — you  see,  I  couldn't  swim,  'cause 
I  hadn't  no  good  feet — and  he  just  jumped  right  in, 
and  he  brought  me  to  shore  all  right.  He  is  a  fine 
man,  and  I  tell  you  I  was  thankful  to  him.  After 
that  he  was  good  to  me,  and  he  told  me  to  try  the 
fiddler-crabbin' — he  said  they  was  fine  bait — and 
he  went  around  and  asked  the  men  to  buy  "em." 

When  the  boy  finished  speaking  something  hap 
pened  that  caused  the  row  of  old  fishermen  to  look 
around  in  amazement,  their  lines  dangling  in  mid-air. 
Ruth  had  drawn  the  boy  to  her  and  was  sobbing. 

"  What  has  Joe  been  a-doin'  ?  "  said  Jim  Benton, 
coming  forward.  "  He  ain't  been  troublin'  you, 
Miss  Lorrimer,  has  he?" 

Ruth  lifted  her  head. 

"  He  has  done  me  a  great  deal  of  good,"  she  said, 
softly.  "Joe  and  I  are  going  to  be  friends."  Joe 
looked  down  and  blushed.  "  He  is  going  to  show 
me  how  to  be  happy."  Then  she  rose.  "  I  am 
coming  to  see  you  and  your  grandmother  very 
soon,  Joe,  and  you  must  come  to  the  manor  and  see 
me." 

She  gave  the  boy  her  hand.  He  took  it,  and 
looked  up  into  her  face  in  such  an  adoring,  reveren- 


RUTH  TAKES  UP  HER  CROSS.       195 

tial  manner  that  she  was  greatly  touched.  As  she 
passed  up  the  road  he  stood  watching  her.  He 
was  twirling  his  cap  and  balancing  himself  upon  his 
crutch ;  his  face  was  flushed  and  smiling.  The  men 
laughed  at  him. 

"What  do  you  see,  Joe?"  said  Jim.  "Air  you 
moonstruck?  " 

"  I  see,"  said  Joe,  in  a  whisper — "  I  see  some 
one  a'most  as  beautiful  as  a  angel." 

The  men  turned  silently  to  their  fishing;  Joe's 
rhapsodies  evidently  were  not  understood. 

Joe  left  them,  and  made  his  way  to  the  tiniest 
house  in  the  fishing- village,  near  the  waterside. 

In  the  latter  part  of  October  a  sad  calamity  fell 
upon  the  quiet  town :  the  old  minister,  who  had 
faithfully  served  his  people  during  a  period  of  forty 
years,  was  called  before  the  great  Judge  to  give  an 
account  of  his  stewardship.  He  had  been  sincerely 
beloved,  and  was  deeply  mourned  by  the  entire 
community.  When  all  was  over,  and  he  was  laid 
at  rest  in  a  quiet  corner  of  the  hillside  graveyard,  a 
serious  and  arduous  duty  devolved  upon  the  com 
mittee  selected  to  call  the  new  incumbent.  After 
much  delay  and  many  meetings,  where  arguments 
filled  the  air  of  the  parsonage  parlor  with  a  great 


196  OFF   LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

and  mighty  clamor,  their  choice  settled  upon  a 
young  clergyman  then  filling  the  post  of  assistant 
in  a  Boston  church.  Letters  passed  and  repassed. 
Finally  the  call  was  accepted,  and  the  Rev.  Arthur 
Clayton  was  duly  installed  as  pastor  of  the  Lynn- 
port  church. 

It  was  late  in  December  when  he  preached  his 
first  sermon  to  a  crowded  congregation,  whose  rev 
erence  and  grave  attention  denoted  their  apprecia 
tion. 

Arthur  Clayton  was  not  a  handsome  man — his 
face  was  far  too  rugged  and  strong.  There  was 
purpose  and  earnestness,  however,  in  his  keen  eye, 
firm  mouth,  and  well-formed  chin.  He  was  tall 
and  well  developed ;  in  fact,  was  a  good,  common- 
sense,  practical  sort  of  man,  with  perhaps  little  senti 
ment  or  poetry  in  his  composition,  though  his  capa 
city  for  deep  feeling  was  evinced  by  his  tenderness 
to  those  in  affliction. 

He  renounced  his  more  lucrative  position  in  Bos 
ton,  with  an  encouraging  future,  having  heard  of 
the  necessity  among  the  fishermen  of  Lynnport  for 
a  man  who  understood  them  and  their  needs.  He 
loved  the  sea  and  the  sailors ;  so  he  came  to  dwell 
among  them  and  be  their  friend. 


RUTH  TAKES  UP  HER  CROSS.       197 

The  morning  that  he  preached  his  first  sermon  in 
Lynnport,  as  his  eye  roved  over  the  people  before 
him,  he  noticed  the  two  ladies  in  the  Lorrimer  pew 
— the  square  pew  with  the  high,  carved  back  and 
cushions.  He  conjectured  they  must  be  the  quality 
of  the  place,  the  "  old  family." 

Mrs.  Lorrimer  watched  him  earnestly  as  he  spoke, 
simply,  yet  so  effectively,  no  visionary  ideas  coupled 
with  the  good  he  hoped  to  do  in  his  new  work,  ask 
ing  earnestly  for  their  friendship  and  aid.  "  If  Ruth 
were  only  here,"  she  thought,  "  she  would  not  be  so 
obdurate.  Certainly  a  man  like  that  could  influence 
her." 

Jane  Weston  had  been  deeply  impressed.  Here 
was  a  man  after  her  own  heart,  who  believed  in 
praying  and  preaching,  but  who  believed  in  work 
ing  too.  When  she  came  out  of  church,  and  waited 
an  instant  on  the  high  elevation  of  ground  outside 
the  edifice,  she  was  joined  rather  abruptly  by  Mrs. 
Munn,  who  appeared  to  be  in  a  state  of  subdued 
excitement. 

"  O  Miss  Weston,"  she  cried,  breathlessly,  "wasn't 
that  a  fine  sermon?  Mr.  Clayton  is  just  the  one 
we  need.  Not  that  I  would  say  a  word  against  the 
good  old  man  that's  gone ;  but  don't  you  think  it's 


198  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

just  as  well  to  go  to  heaven  in  some  interestin'  way  ? 
Dronin'  sermons  ain't  very  entertainin'.  Ain't  Miss 
Ruth  goin'  to  come  to  hear  him?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Jane,  sadly.  "  She  has 
become  so  interested  in  Timothy's  Joe ;  perhaps  he 
will  bring  her  sometime." 

"  Don't  it  beat  all,"  cried  Mrs.  Munn,  "  how  she's 
taken  to  that  boy?  And  he  just  adores  her.  I  tell 
him  he's  doin'  wrong :  he's  makin'  a  graven  image 
of  Miss  Ruth,  and  fallin'  down  and  worshipin'  her. 
And  he  says — and  his  eyes  a-shinin'  like  stars — '  I 
love  her  better  than  anybody  but  God.'  I  couldn't 
say  nothin'  then.  Poor  creature!  he  ain't  had  any 
one  to  love  before  her.  I'm  so  thankful,  Miss  Wes- 
ton,  I  didn't  have  any  children.  Perhaps  I  wrong 
Munn,  but  in  one  of  his  tantrums  he  might  'a'  done 
the  same  thing  as  Joe's  father.  But  then  I  won't 
say  anything  against  him — right  on  the  church 
steps,  too."  She  sighed — a  long-drawn,  contrite 
sigh.  "  Oh  well,  there's  worse  than  Munn,  there's 
worse  than  Munn;  I  always  will  contend  that." 

At  that  instant  Mr.  Clayton  appeared  at  the 
church  door,  and,  pausing  a  moment,  stood  there 
in  the  cold,  wintry  sunshine. 

Mrs.  Lorrimer  was  waiting  in  the  church  porch  for 


RUTH   TAKES    UP    HER    CROSS.  199 

her  carriage,  which  was  rapidly  approaching  the  foot 
of  the  steps  that  led  to  the  level  of  the  street,  and 
she  followed  him  as  he  stepped  out  into  the  light. 

"  Mr.  Clayton,"  she  said,  her  beautiful  face  suf 
fused  with  a  pleased,  contented  glow,  "  you  have 
done  me  much  good  to-day.  I  am  a  great  invalid, 
and  made  an  extra  effort  to  hear  you,  and  have  been 
more  than  rewarded."  She  smiled  and  held  out 
her  hand,  which  he  took,  bowing  deeply.  "  Will 
you  see  me  to  my  carriage?"  she  said.  He  offered 
his  arm  and  guided  her  feeble  steps  down  the  steep 
incline,  upon  which,  in  places,  a  thin  coating  of  ice 
was  visible.  Jane  followed  him. 

When  the  two  ladies  were  seated  in  the  carriage 
Mrs.  Lorrimer  leaned  from  the  window  and  said : 

"  We  shall  hope  to  see  you  soon  at  the  home 
stead,  Mr.  Clayton.  I  have  a  granddaughter  I  wish 
you  to  meet." 

Mr.  Clayton  bowed ;  the  carriage  rolled  away. 
He  stood  watching  it  a  moment.  "  She  has  a 
granddaughter,"  he  mused,  as  he  made  his  way  to 
the  rectory,  where  he  had  taken  his  bachelor's  quar 
ters.  "  Since  she  was  not  at  service  she  is  probably 
an  invalid.  I  will  call  very  soon." 

Joe  had  been  in  church,  and  sat  in  his  accustomed 


200  OFF  LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

place  by  the  side  of  his  grandmother,  in  the  very 
last  seat  by  the  door.  It  was  drafty  by  the  door, 
the  seat  was  a  hard  one,  but  the  old  woman  said  she 
"  didn't  dress  so  well  as  her  neighbors,  she  didn't 
want  to  take  a  top  seat ;  she  guessed  the  Lord 
would  find  her  and  Joe  just  as  well  there  as  He 
would  in  a  square  pew."  So  there  they  sat  every 
Sunday,  rain  or  shine,  when  Joe  was  able,  always 
early,  and  always  gave  their  little  mite,  both  joining 
most  vociferously  in  the  singing  of  the  old  psalms, 
the  grandmother's  cracked  treble  mingling  with 
Joe's  sweet  notes. 

Joe  had  only  one  trouble  at  present ;  he  grieved 
over  it  much  in  secret.  Now  that  he  had  seen  and 
heard  the  new  minister  he  felt  there  was  a  possible 
solution  of  his  overwhelming  difficulty.  It  was  about 
Miss  Ruth  :  she  never  came  to  church.  Once  when 
he  asked  her — very  timidly,  it  is  true,  for  he  felt 
he  was  taking  a  great  liberty — she  had  grown  white 
and  turned  away  her  head,  saying: 

"  I  once  had  a  great  trouble,  Joe ;  you  must  not 
ask  me  about  it.  Since  then  I  have  never  wished 
to  go  to  church;  but  you  must  always  go — it  is 
right  to  go." 

Joe  was  forced  to  be  content  with  this  answer, 


RUTH    TAKES    UP    HER    CROSS.  2OI 

but  was  not  entirely  satisfied.  So  he  said  to  him 
self,  as  he  watched  Mr.  Clayton  that  Sunday  morn 
ing,  that  sometime,  when  he  got  better  acquainted 
with  the  minister,  he  would  tell  him  about  Miss 
Ruth — tell  him  as  a  secret,  of  course.  She  was  so 
good  and  kind  to  everybody,  and  had  done  so  much 
for  him  and  granny,  and  for  lots  of  the  poor  folks 
in  the  fishing-town,  that  he  wanted  to  see  her  come 
into  church  and  walk  up  the  aisle  and  sit  in  the 
beautifully  carved  high  pew.  He  told  his  grand 
mother  of  his  projects  as  he  limped  along  beside 
her  on  his  way  home.  Much  to  his  surprise  she 
silenced  him  peremptorily : 

"  Don't  you  go  meddlin',  Joe ;  it  isn't  your  right 
to  talk  about  Miss  Ruth." 

At  this  possible  aspect  of  the  affair  his  earnest 
face  looked  pained  and  drawn,  his  large,  mournful 
eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"  O  granny,  you  ain't  got  no  call  to  say  that.  I 
ain't  got  no  legs  to  give,  but  I'd  give  both  arms  for 
Miss  Ruth,  and  you  know  it.  I'll  ask  Mr.  Clayton, 
anyhow — he'll  understand ;  he  ain't  goin'  to  get  it 
all  mixed  up  like  that." 

"Yer're  a  ridic'lous  boy,"  said  granny,  peering  at 
him  over  her  glasses.  "Come  along;  we'd  better 


202  OFF    LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

hurry  home  and  get  dinner — yer  know  Miss  Ruth 
sent  us  a  chicken  fer  dinner  to-day." 

"  You  hurted  my  feelin's,"  said  Joe.  "  I  don't 
want  any  dinner." 

"  I  guess  I'll  bile  the  chicken,  my  teeth  are  so 
poor,"  was  granny's  answer. 

"  I  don't  want  any  dinner,"  mumbled  Joe,  wiping 
away  a  tear  with  his  sleeve. 


CHAPTER   XII. 
THE  MINISTER'S  WOOING. 

SOME  days  after  Mr.  Clayton's  instalment  he  made 
his  first  call  at  the  manor-house.  There  had  been 
a  light  fall  of  snow;  the  avenue  was  white  with  it. 
The  great  elms  rustled  their  bare  arms  drearily 
above  his  head,  as  though  protesting  against  the 
long,  cold  winter  before  them.  The  evergreens, 
heavy  with  an  icy  covering  which  had  frozen  on 
their  green  boughs,  resembled  white-draped  ghosts. 
Across  his  path  a  few  little  shivering  sparrows 
hopped  at  intervals,  and  a  squirrel  dropped  a  nut  at 
his  feet,  then  scampered  away  in  terror.  It  was  very 
quiet  in  the  avenue ;  but  a  footstep  could  not  be 
heard  on  account  of  the  well-packed  snow. 

A  turn  in  the  road  brought  him  in  sight  of  the 
house,  its  white  pillars  gleaming  in  the  vivid  reflec 
tion  of  their  snowy  surroundings.  On  the  pillars 
the  brown,  rustling  branches  of  the  vines  glistened 

203 


204  OFF    LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

as  they  swayed  back  and  forth  in  the  wind.  On 
the  upper  step  of  the  piazza  stood  Ruth,  clad  in  a 
heavy  cloak  that  fell  to  her  feet,  and  her  sweet  face 
peeped  out  from  a  fur  hood. 

She  noticed  Mr.  Clayton  approaching,  and  recog 
nized  him,  as  she  had  seen  him  more  than  once  upon 
the  village  streets.  Once  when  he  called  on  Kate 
Hathaway,  a  few  days  previous,  she  had  noticed  his 
approach  through  the  shutters  of  the  parlor,  and  fled 
precipitately  to  the  kitchen  to  ask  Mrs.  Munn  if  she 
would  give  her  a  good  recipe  for  making  doughnuts. 

Now  she  encountered  him  again.  She  had  a 
basket  on  her  arm,  and  was  on  her  way  to  the  fish 
ing-town  on  an  errand  of  mercy.  Impelled  by  a 
feeling  of  perverseness  she  least  of  all  could  have 
explained,  she  did  not  wish  him  to  know  of  this 
errand.  She  pushed  the  basket  back  of  her.  She 
did  not  wish  him  to  form  a  favorable  opinion  of  her ; 
she  wanted  him  to  think  her  hard,  cold,  and  bitter. 
She  tried  to  convince  herself  that  she  was  so;  that 
she  was  changed  in  all  things  since  Jack  went  away  ; 
that  she  was  no  longer  the  Ruth  Lorrimer  of  the  old 
days — only  an  indifferent  woman,  indifferent  to  all 
kindly  feeling ;  a  mere  mechanical  being,  who  lived 
and  breathed  without  heart  or  soul. 


THE  MINISTER'S  WOOING.  205 

She  came  down  the  steps  and  passed  him  in  the 
snowy  driveway,  keeping  her  head  averted  and  her 
slim  figure  erect 

He  bowed  and  passed  up  the  steps,  wondering 
who  she  was. 

After  that  Mr.  Clayton  came  often  to  the  home 
stead.  Mrs.  Lorrimer  did  not  venture  forth  through 
that  long,  cold  winter,  and  his  frequent  calls  were 
a  constant  source  of  pleasure  to  her.  She,  in  her 
laces  and  soft  brocades,  her  jeweled  hands  folded 
in  her  lap,  passed  many  happy  hours  drawn  close  to 
the  fire,  with  Arthur  Clayton  beside  her,  his  strong 
face  and  deep-toned  voice  lending  a  charm  to  the 
pleasant,  sensible  talks  in  which  they  indulged. 

Ruth,  like  a  spoiled,  perverse  child,  refused  to 
meet  him.  She  did  not  want  sympathy  and  advice 
expended  on  her,  she  said,  bitterly.  Mr.  Clayton 
would  deem  it  his  duty  to  lecture  her  on  her 
course,  which  she  would  not  tolerate  from  any  man. 

When  Mr.  Clayton  called  again  Mrs.  Lorrimer 
told  him  that  her  granddaughter  had  had  trouble ; 
it  had  changed  her,  poor  child ! 

"  Was  it  a  death  ?  "  said  the  minister. 

"  No,  a  disappointment." 

"Oh!"  said  Mr.  Clayton. 


206  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

If  Mrs.  Lorrimer  had  looked  closely  she  would 
have  seen  in  his  keen  eye  the  ghost  of  a  smile. 

In  a  place  like  Lynnport  it  was  not  possible 
for  two  people  to  live  within  its  limited  borders  and 
not  know  each  other,  at  least  by  sight.  That  was 
the  case  with  Ruth  and  Mr.  Clayton.  They  passed 
each  other  many  times  on  the  steep,  slippery  streets 
and  in  the  narrow  alleys  of  the  fishing-town.  Mr. 
Clayton  had  become  the  idol  of  the  fishermen.  He 
formed  clubs  for  them,  talked  with  them,  cheered 
them,  and,  greatest  of  all,  won  their  confidence. 
They  called  him  the  "sailor  parson,"  and  a  better 
sailor  never  pulled  a  dory  or  hauled  a  sail  in  the 
harbor  of  Lynnport. 

Spring  came  late  that  year.  The  ice  lasted  long 
in  the  bay.  It  was  May  before  the  frozen  earth 
appeared  to  wake  up,  and  the  bluebird's  song  was 
heard  in  the  woods — a  feeble  song,  as  though  the 
winds  were  still  too  sharp  to  give  heart  to  the. 
melody. 

Ruth  had  wandered  one  afternoon  alone  to  the 
headland,  the  bold,  pointed  ledge  of  rocks  upon 
which  she  had  so  often  stood  with  Jack.  She 
thought  of  him  as  she  sat  there  watching  the  sea. 
Far  below  dashed  the  surf,  booming  and  surging 


THE  MINISTER'S  WOOING.  207 

into  the  hollows  of  the  rocks.  The  gulls  were  float 
ing  on  the  long  billows,  and  the  spotted  back  of  a 
northern  diver  rose  now  and  then  upon  the  surface 
of  the  water. 

"  It  will  soon  be  two  years  since  Jack  went  away," 
she  thought — "two  years  next  September."  She 
leaned  her  chin  in  her  hand,  watching  moodily  the 
rolling  waters  before  her.  Presently  the  tears  gath 
ered  and  dropped  into  her  lap.  She  brushed  them 
hastily  aside,  and  looking  up  saw  Arthur  Clayton 
observing  her  kindly  and  respectfully.  She  started 
hastily  to  her  feet,  and  would  have  passed  him 
without  a  word. 

"Do  not  go,"  he  said;  "there  is  room  enough 
for  two  on  this  great  ledge" — he  smiled — "and  the 
view  is  for  all." 

If  she  ran  away  it  would  be  childish ;  he  would 
laugh  at  her;  she  would  place  herself  in  a  ridiculous 
light.  No,  she  would  stay.  She  seated  herself 
again.  He  turned  from  her  and  stood  looking  out 
to  sea,  drawing  in  long  breaths  of  salt  air.  She 
watched  him  covertly — the  well-cut  profile,  strong 
chin,  dark,  heavy  hair,  broad  shoulders,  and  fine 
carriage. 

Her  past  behavior  appeared  to  assume  whimsical 


2O8  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

and  childish  proportions.  What  must  he  think  of 
her? — that  is,  if  he  thought  of  her  at  all.  She  rose 
from  her  seat,  and  going  to  him,  stood  beside  him 
and  said : 

"Mr.  Clayton,  I  owe  you  an  explanation."  Her 
voice  trembled  a  little  as  she  spoke.  "  I  am  the  only 
one  of  your  parishioners  who  has  never  heard  you 
preach.  I  have  avoided  you,  I  have  refused  to  meet 
you."  He  turned  and  stood  watching  her  gravely. 
"  The  only  reason  I  can  give  for  this  is  that  I  feared 
your  persuasions  to  induce  me  to  think  differently. 
I  should  like  to  be  friends  with  you,  and  I  thank 
you  for  the  many  happy  hours  you  have  given 
grandmother." 

"  I  am  glad,  Miss  Lorrimer,"  he  replied,  kindly, 
"  you  have  told  me  this.  Suppose  we  become 
friends,  and  do  not  talk  of  church — just  good 
friends." 

"  Oh,  if  you  will,  Mr.  Clayton,  I  shall  be  so 
glad!" 

"  I  give  you  my  promise,"  he  said.  "  I  notice 
you  go  much  among  the  fisher-folk ;  you  must  tell 
me  about  them — that  is  my  chosen  work." 

She  sat  down  upon  the  ledge.      He  seated  him- 


THE  MINISTER'S  WOOING.  209 

self  by  her  side.  She  told  him  about  Lynnport, 
her  poor  people,  and  little  Joe,  her  comforter,  as 
she  called  him. 

"Why  do  you  call  him  that?"  said  Mr.  Clayton. 

"  He  came  to  me,"  she  said,  softly,  "  when  I  was 
very  unhappy,  and  he — he — helped  me." 

After  that  meeting  on  the  cliffs  they  became  good 
friends,  and  saw  each  other  often  :  many  times  in  the 
tiny,  ill-smelling  huts  on  the  shore  beside  a  sick-bed, 
or  side  by  side  stood  and  listened  to  the  sad  recital 
of  some  miserable  story  of  want  and  loss. 

The  outcome  of  this  can  be  readily  foreseen — the 
effect  at  least  upon  one  of  the  interested  parties. 
Mr.  Clayton  awoke  to  the  fact,  slowly  and  gradually, 
it  is  true — he  was  not  an  impulsive  man — that  he 
was  growing  to  care  very  much  for  Ruth  Lorrimer. 
He  watched  for  her,  missed  her  when  she  was  not 
near  him,  noticed  the  winning  sweetness  of  her  face, 
the  silvery  notes  in  her  low  voice. 

When  September  came — it  was  two  years  since 
Jack  had  sailed — Mr.  Clayton  made  up  his  mind  that 
he  loved  Ruth  Lorrimer,  and  if  he  could  win  her  she 
should  be  his  wife.  The  affection  he  gave  was  the 
kind  one  might  expect  in  a  man  of  strong,  self-re- 


210  OFF    LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

liant  character — deep,  unchanging.  The  river  had 
found  its  true  course,  moving  on  through  its  chan 
nel,  unswerving,  to  the  sea. 

Ruth  did  not  for  a  moment  suspect  this  state  of 
affairs.  He  did  not  mean  she  should.  A  knowledge 
of  it  at  present  would  ruin  their  pleasant  friendship. 
He  saw  she  cared  nothing  for  him  in  that  way. 
He  suspected  her  story,  though  he  knew  nothing  of 
its  details.  He  surmised  that  some  one  she  loved 
had  proved  unworthy,  and  she  was  grieving  her  heart 
out  over  a  shattered  idol. 

October  was  very  lovely  that  year;  the  flowers 
bloomed  late  in  the  sheltered  garden.  One  sunny 
morning  Ruth  was  walking  with  her  grandmother 
slowly  up  and  down  the  graveled  path. 

"  Ruth,  dear  child,"  said  Mrs.  Lorrimer,  as  she 
leaned  heavily  upon  her  granddaughter's  arm,  "  I 
have  wanted  to  speak  to  you  for  some  time.  You 
will  not  be  angry  with  the  old  grandmother  if  she 
says  what  she  thinks?  " 

"  No,"  said  Ruth,  tenderly.     "  What  is  it?  " 

Mrs.  Lorrimer  hesitated,  leaning  over  a  bed  of 
scarlet  dahlias  as  if  to  collect  her  thoughts. 

"  It  is  about  yourself,  Ruth,  and — and — Mr. 
Clayton." 


THE  MINISTER'S  WOOING.  211 

"Mr.  Clayton!"  said  Ruth.  '"What  has  he  to 
do  with  me?  " 

"  He  has  everything,  Ruth;  he  loves  you." 

Ruth  did  not  speak.  She  grew  very  white,  then 
said,  angrily : 

"Did  he  tell  you  this?"  She  drew  her  arm 
away  from  Mrs.  Lorrimer  and  stood  watching  her 
suspiciously. 

"  Jane  and  I  have  seen  it  for  some  time,"  faltered 
Mrs.  Lorrimer.  "  Last  evening,  when  Mr.  Clayton 
was  here  and  you  were  in  Lynnport,  we  were  look 
ing  over  some  old  daguerreotypes.  He  saw  one 
of  you,  taken  when  you  were  seventeen.  You  re 
member  it,  dear ;  you  had  it  taken  when  I  took  you 
up  to  Boston,  and  you  wore  the  new  blue  taffeta  silk 
with  the  lace  bertha.  He  took  it  in  his  hand  and 
looked  at  it  so  long  that  Jane  and  I  grew  nervous ; 
then  he  laid  it  down  and  said: 

"  '  This  was  before  she  had  her  great  sorrow,  was 
it  not?' 

"I  said,  'Yes.'  And  perhaps  something  in  my 
face  may  have  made  him  say  what  he  did.  He 
looked  earnestly  at  me  and  said : 

"  '  Mrs.  Lorrimer,  is  there  any  hope  for  me?' 

"  I  told  him,  Ruth,  to  wait." 


212  OFF   LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

"  You  had  no  right  to  tell  him  that."  There  was 
pain  and  anger  in  Ruth's  voice.  "  I  do  not  wish 
him  to  wait.  What  should  he  wait  for?  " 

"  You  will  marry  some  day,  Ruth.  Whom  so 
worthy  as  Arthur  Clayton?  He  is  a  good  man, 
upright  and  honorable ;  he  loves  you.  You  could 
make  me  happy  before  I  die."  Mrs.  Lorrimer  hesi 
tated,  her  voice  trembled.  "  I  cannot  leave  my 
little  girl  without  a  protector." 

"  Why  need  I  marry ;  I  cannot  love  any  one 
enough  for  that;  would  any  one  want  me  for  a 
wife  without  love?  " 

"  You  would  grow  to  love  Mr.  Clayton.  He 
would  be  patient,  and  all  would  come  right  in  time." 

"It  is  sacrilege,"  said  Ruth.  "What  have  I  to 
give  any  man?  " 

Mrs.  Lorrimer  did  not  reply.  Together  in  silence 
they  left  the  garden. 

This  communication  caused  Ruth  to  visit  her  fish 
er-folk  less  often,  much  to  little  Joe's  grief.  As  she 
took  him  for  long  walks  with  her  upon  the  beach, 
however,  where  she  helped  him  gather  crabs,  he 
was  forced  to  be  content. 

Mr.  Clayton  suspected  the  reason  for  her  avoid 
ance  of  him,  and  did  not  harass  her  with  his  pres 
ence.  He  understood  her  and  her  sensitive  nature. 


THE  MINISTER'S  WOOING.  213 

The  winter  passed ;  it  would  soon  be  three  years 
since  Jack  went  away.  Time  had  helped  Ruth ; 
things  were  outlined  less  distinctly.  Her  sorrow, 
when  she  thought  of  it,  was  as  great,  but  she  did 
not  always  think  of  it.  She  was  shocked  when, 
after  some  hours  of  diversion,  she  would  find  that  she 
felt  quite  like  the  old  Ruth  who  used  to  romp  about 
the  manor-house  grounds.  She  would  chide  her 
self  for  this  treason,  as  she  called  it,  and  conjure 
up  partly  faded  visions  of  Jack's  good-by  and  her 
wrecked  hopes. 

Arthur  Clayton  saw  the  change;  so  did  Jane  and 
Mrs.  Lorrimer.  One  day  in  midsummer  he  asked 
Ruth,  in  a  straightforward,  manly  speech,  to  marry 
him.  He  had  found  her  in  the  garden,  where 
she  was  standing  amid  her  flowers,  with  a  basket 
partly  filled  on  the  grass  beside  her,  and  a  bunch 
of  lilies  in  her  hand.  She  listened  to  him  gravely, 
her  clear  eyes  searching  his  face ;  then  she  turned 
from  him  and  looked  through  the  opening  in  the 
pines  to  the  ocean  beyond.  He  saw  her  lips  trem 
ble  when  she  said : 

"  I  cannot  answer  you ;  I  must  first  tell  you  a 
sad  story.  Will  you  hear  it  now?" 

He  bowed.     "  As  you  wish,"  he  said. 

She  laid  her  lilies  in  the  basket,  and  with  one  arm 


214  OFF    LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

t 

resting  on  the  well-sweep  she  told  him  the  sad  end 
ing  to  her  love  for  Jack. 

"  You  will  see,  Mr.  Clayton,  why  I  could  not  love 
any  one  else.  One  cannot  feel  the  same  twice ;  I 
gave  Jack  the  best  I  had." 

"I  suspected  much  that  you  have  told  me,"  he 
said ;  "  yet  I  risked  all.  I  hoped  time  would  alter 
your  feelings.  I  think  you  will  learn  to  care  for 
me  if  you  will  give  me  the  right  to  love  and  protect 
you.  Can  you  not,  Ruth?  Give  me  the  best  love 
that  is  in  you.  We  will  bury  the  past,  and  I  shall 
be  satisfied." 

She  stood  looking  meditatively  upon  the  flowers 
in  the  basket  at  her  feet,  then  said  slowly,  as  though 
weighing  carefully  every  word : 

"  I  must  have  time  to  think  of  this.  I  respect 
you,  appreciate  your  worth,  but  I  have  no  love  to 
give  any  man.  I  know  it  would  please  grandmother 
and  make  her  very  happy.  If  I  do  as  you  wish  I 
must  marry  in  a  different  spirit.  I  have  not  been 
softened  by  my  trouble,  and  have  renounced  the 
forms  of  religion.  As  your  wife  I  must  conform  to 
the  duties  of  my  position." 

"That  would  come  in  time,"  said  Mr.  Clayton. 

"  I  cannot  tell — perhaps.     I  must  be  honest  with 


THE  MINISTER'S  WOOING.  215 

you;  you  must  understand  it  all  now,"  she  cried, 
passionately,  "  then  you  cannot  blame  me." 

"  I  understand,"  he  said,  kindly;  "  I  am  content. 
You  shall  have  all  the  time  you  desire.  If  at  the 
end  you  will  come  to  me  I  shall  thank  God  for  the 
greatest  blessing  of  my  life.  If  He  decrees  other 
wise  I  shall  bow  my  head  to  His  will ;  it  will  be  a 
great  blow — life  will  be  never  quite  the  same  again." 

She  did  not  reply  immediately.  She  stooped, 
took  up  the  basket  of  flowers  and  the  clipping- 
shears  from  the  ground,  and  walked  slowly  by  his 
side  to  the  garden  gate.  When  they  reached  the 
gate  he  held  it  open  for  her  to  pass  through.  She 
paused  and  said : 

"  Give  me  till  winter,  Mr.  Clayton,  to  think  about 
what  you  have  told  me." 

"  As  you  wish,"  he  replied. 

A  few  days  after  this  conversation  in  the  manor- 
house  garden,  Ruth  sat  in  the  parlor  of  the  Hath 
away  cottage  by  Kate's  side.  A  dainty  tea-table 
stood  near  by,  with  the  kettle  singing  pleasantly 
over  the  spirit-lamp,  the  Chinese  tea-set  and  Can 
ton-crape  tea-cloth  being  a  suitable  accompaniment 
to  the  delicious  aroma  of  the  best  imported  tea.  In 
those  days  the  tea  from  China  was  undoubtedly  of 


2l6  OFF    LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

fine  merit.  A  dish  of  East  India  sweets  stood  by 
the  side  of  the  tea-caddy,  and  Mrs.  Munn,  in  white 
apron  and  cap,  sat  near  by,  waiting  to  serve  the 
ladies. 

Ruth  had  been  telling  of  her  conversation  with 
Mr.  Clayton.  She  had  placed  the  tea-cup  upon 
the  table  while  she  spoke,  and  was  looking  expec 
tantly  into  Kate's  face  for  her  answer. 

"  I  tell  you  this,  Kate,"  she  said,  finally,  when 
she  received  no  reply,  "  and  Mrs.  Munn  too,  be 
cause  you  are  my  friends,  and  I  want  your  advice." 

Kate  leaned  forward. 

"  You  have  been  honest  with  him,  Ruth.  I  think 
you  would  be  a  happier  woman  in  your  own  home 
— your  sphere  for  good  would  be  enlarged.  You 
cannot  live  your  life  forever  grieving  for  the  past. 
I  see  in  this  a  happy  future.  Jack  will  never  re 
turn — we  have  heard  nothing  from  him,  nor  ever 
will." 

Ruth  winced  at  the  sound  of  Jack's  name. 

"  Let  us  not  speak  of  him,"  she  said. 

Mrs.  Munn  folded  her  arms  and  set  her  mouth  in 
a  grim  line.  She  rose  suddenly  from  her  chair  and 
handed  a  plate  of  buttered  toast  to  Ruth,  holding  it 
out  before  her  like  a  corporal  presenting  arms. 


THE  MINISTER'S  WOOING.  217 

"What  is  your  advice,  Mrs.  Munn?"  said  Ruth, 
refusing  the  toast  with  a  wave  of  her  hand. 

"  I  am  sorry  you  asked  my  advice,  Miss  Ruth," 
said  Mrs.  Munn,  in  a  funereal  tone.  "  I  said  once, 
and  I  say  it  again,  that  as  long  as  my  name  is 
Sarah  Munn — and  there  ain't  any  likelihood  of  my 
changin'  it,  as  I  know  on — I'll  never  meddle  in 
an  affair  of  marriage  again.  I  ain't  got  any  advice 
to  offer,  Miss  Ruth." 

"Are  you  not  interested  in  Ruth's  welfare?" 
said  Kate. 

"  You  know  all  my  interest  is  in  you  and  Miss 
Ruth;  but  I  dare  not  take  it  on  me  to  offer  advice 
after  what  has  happened." 

"  Say  what  you  think,"  said  Ruth;  "it  need  not 
be  given  as  advice." 

"  Now,  Miss  Ruth,  don't  you  badger  me.  Speakin* 
of  badgerin'  reminds  me — let  me  tell  you  what 
happened  over  to  Abigail  Thomas's,  on  the  shore 
road."  The  two  ladies  placed  their  tea-cups  down 
and  proceeded  to  listen.  "  It  ain't  so  long  ago, 
either,"  began  Mrs.  Munn,  slowly,  with  a  sigh, 
smoothing  her  apron  down  as  she  spoke.  "  Well, 
Abigail,  she  was  a  masterful  woman,  and  her  hus 
band  was  a  mite  of  a  man.  Ben  Thomas  was  the 


2l8  OFF    LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

weazeniest  man  I  ever  saw,  and  he  give  in  to  Abi 
gail  in  everything.  Well,  the  eldest  girl  was  goin' 
to  be  married  to  a  seafarin'  man.  Abigail  didn't 
want  her  to  get  married ;  she  wanted  her  to  stay  at 
home  and  work  on  the  farm.  Well,  Ben,  he  didn't 
know  what  to  do;  he  was  pulled  here  and  there  by 
the  women-folks.  He  was  afraid  of  Abigail.  He'd 
done  always  what  she'd  wanted,  even  to  wearin'  a 
high  hat  made  to  order,  six  inches  taller  than  the 
regular  height,  till  he  looked  ridiculous — " 

"  Oh,  I  remember  Ben  Thomas  very  well,"  inter 
rupted  Ruth. 

"Well,  they  badgered  him  to  death,  poor  man! 
They  kept  a-askin'  his  advice  and  then  never  takin' 
it,  and  goin'  over  and  over  the  same  thing  day  after 
day.  He  didn't  have  a  minute's  rest,  and  the  end 
of  it  all  was  he  drowned  himself,  or  at  least  he  tried 
to,  in  the  cistern.  They  fished  him  out  just  in  time ; 
and  on  his  vest  they  found  these  words  printed  on 
brown  paper:  'Badgered  to  death.'  After  that  Abi 
gail  left  him  alone,  and  the  girl  got  married,  and  Ben 
wears  the  lowest-crowned  hat  I  ever  see  to  church 
— 'tain't  more'n  an  inch  high."  The  ladies  laughed. 
"  And  I've  heard  he  never  gives  advice  to  anybody. 
Every  time  they  get  after  him,  botherin'  him,  he 


THE  MINISTER'S  WOOING.  219 

just  kinder  looks  toward  the  cistern  or  sets  his  foot 
that  way,  and  they  all  get  just  like  lambs.  No, 
Miss  Ruth,  I  ain't  goin'  to  be  badgered,  and  I  ain't 
goin'  to  give  my  advice."  She  rose  from  her  seat, 
and,  taking  the  plate  of  toast,  moved  majestically 
toward  the  door.  "  I'm  goin'  to  make  some  fresh 
toast,"  she  said.  She  paused  on  the  threshold  and 
looked  back.  "  Whatever  you  do,  Miss  Ruth,  do 
it  in  a  God-fearin',  pious  manner.  Make  up  your 
mind,  then  stick  to  it.  That's  the  way  I  did  with 
Munn.  I  didn't  desert  him — I  ain't  got  that  to  re 
proach  myself  with."  She  disappeared  down  the 
narrow  hall  with  the  plate  of  toast,  and  the  two 
ladies  looked  at  each  other  and  smiled. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

THE   DEATH    OF   LITTLE   JOE. 

THE  summer  passed,  and  fall  came  again. 

One  day  in  October,  after  a  heavy  frost,  Ruth 
and  Joe  went  nutting  in  the  woods.  It  was  beau 
tiful  in  the  autumn-scented  woods.  The  red  and 
yellow  leaves  made  a  carpet  beneath  their  feet  more 
lovely  than  any  woven  by  art,  the  brown,  scarlet, 
and  ocher  shades  blending  with  dull  gray  and 
purple  tints. 

The  path  led  through  a  country  road  for  some  dis 
tance,  a  road  overhanging  the  river-bank.  Along 
the  way  Joe  gathered  late  flowers,  that  struggled 
bravely  beneath  sheltered  bits  of  stone  wall  and 
board  fences,  standing  bright  and  strong,  as  though 
no  biting  frost  had  covered  the  land  and  opened  the 
chestnut-burs.  He  made  a  garland  of  flowers  for 
Ruth.  She  thanked  him,  hung  the  wreath  upon 
her  arm,  and  called  him  her  true  knight. 


THE    DEATH    OF    LITTLE   JOE.  221 

After  walking  for  some  time  they  reached  the 
grove  where  the  nut-trees  grew  thickest.  They  sat 
down  to  rest,  placing  the  baskets  beside  them.  It 
was  intensely  still  in  the  retired  spot ;  not  a  breeze 
rustled  the  nearly  leafless  trees,  and  the  air  was  as 
soft  and  balmy  as  May. 

Ruth  sat  resting  against  the  side  of  a  tree-trunk, 
looking  dreamily  before  her.  Joe  watched  her 
silently.  He  never  interrupted  her  when  she 
looked  like  that ;  he  always  waited  for  her  to 
speak.  Presently  she  turned  to  him. 

"  I  am  sorry  company  to-day,"  she  said. 

"No,"  said  Joe;  "  I  always  like  to  be  with  you, 
even  if  you  don't  speak.  Sometimes,  when  I  feel 
tired,  I  sit  all  day  and  look  and  look  before  me  just 
like  that,  and  I  don't  say  nothin'  to  nobody." 

"What  do  you  see,  Joe,  at  those  times?" 

He  blushed,  hesitated,  and  turned  his  earnest  lit 
tle  face  aside. 

"  I  see,"  he  said,  timidly,  "  a  lovely  place  all 
bright ;  nobody  is  hungry  or  cold,  and  I  am  strong, 
and  got  new  feet  and  a  new  back,  and  got  lots  o' 
work  to  do — much  better  work  than  crabbin' ;  and 
I  says,  I  can't  never  have  all  those  things  here,  so 
there  is  some  other  place  where  I  will  have  them 


222  OFF   LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

some  day.  That's  the  place  I  thinks  about  when  I 
sits  and  looks  and  don't  speak." 

"  Does  it  look  very  beautiful  to  you,  Joe?  " 

"  I  can't  say  as  I  knows  just  how  it  looks — 
whether  there  is  houses  and  people — only  I  sees 
myself  strong  and  well,  and — and  happy.  I  don't 
want  for  anything — I  has  everything." 

"  That  is  heaven,  Joe,  that  you  are  thinking 
about.  We  all  think  of  it  at  times."  Then  draw 
ing  nearer  to  the  boy  she  drew  his  head  upon  her 
shoulder  and  looked  tenderly  into  his  dark,  expres 
sive  eyes — Joe's  one  claim  to  beauty.  "  You  must 
not  leave  me,  Joe.  You  have  been  my  best  solace 
for  a  great  grief  I  once  suffered.  You  have  opened 
my  heart  to  the  sufferings  of  others,  and  taught  me 
there  is  more  to  live  for  than  one's  own  happiness." 

"  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  leave  you,  Miss  Ruth.  I  don't 
think,  even  if  I  had  good  legs  and  everything,  I'd 
be  quite  happy  without  you." 

"  Then  we  won't  talk  so  sadly  any  more.  Let 
us  gather  the  nuts ;  see,  the  ground  is  covered  with 
them.  You  sit  still ;  it  is  hard  walking  over  the 
rough  twigs.  I'll  bring  you  all  I  gather,  and  you 
can  put  them  in  the  basket." 

Ruth  and  Joe  had  a  very  pleasant  day  in  those 


THE   DEATH   OF   LITTLE  JOE.  223 

sweet-scented  woods.  The  wind  blew  gently  through 
the  dry  leaves  as  the  afternoon  drew  near.  Now 
and  then  a  covey  of  quail  rustled  the  underbrush,  or 
a  saucy  squirrel  nibbled  his  dinner  above  their  heads, 
dropping  the  empty  shells  at  their  feet.  Once  a 
fat  partridge  marched  sedately  across  the  path  near 
them. 

Joe  was  tired ;  the  walk  had  been  long,  and  he 
did  not  feel  equal  to  much  exertion.  He  rested, 
watching  Ruth  as  she  filled  the  baskets,  a  happy 
smile  upon  his  face.  When  the  rays  of  the  sun 
slanted  low,  with  shadows  growing  gigantic  as  they 
fell  across  the  fields,  he  rose  wearily,  hobbling  along 
by  Ruth's  side,  making  his  way  slowly  from  the 
woods  to  the  open  pastures  bordering  the  high 
way. 

Ruth  had  the  baskets  of  nuts  in  her  hands ;  over 
them  she  had  laid  a  covering  of  crimson  leaves. 

When  they  reached  the  open  field  they  stood  side 
by  side  an  instant,  watching  the  sunset  through  an 
opening  in  the  trees  on  the  banks  of  the  harbor.  It 
was  a  glorious  sight,  that  brilliant  October  sunset. 
The  sky  was  lit  into  mountains  of  flame-colored 
clouds ;  the  water  beneath  was  crimson  from  the 
reflection.  The  sun  hung  above  the  dark  trees,  a 


224  OFF    LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

gleaming  meteor,  and  from  its  center  radiated  streaks 
of  light  that  appeared  to  illuminate  the  earth. 

Joe  leaned  against  an  old  stone  wall  and  clasped 
his  hands.  In  his  limited  vocabulary  he  could  not 
express  his  feelings. 

"  Oh  my,  Miss  Ruth,  ain't  it  fine,  ain't  it  bright!" 

Ruth  did  not  reply.  The  intense  beauty  of  the 
scene  had  entered  her  soul ;  she  could  not  speak. 

Presently  Joe  said,  very  timidly : 

"  Do  you  think  heaven  is  like  that " — he  pointed 
toward  the  sky — "  all  bright  like  that?  " 

"  It  is  more  beautiful  than  that,  Joe." 

"  Oh  my!"  said  he,  drawing  in  a  long  breath. 

The  walk  home  was  slow,  and  for  Joe  very  pain 
ful.  He  had  not  been  as  well  this  fall ;  his  grand 
mother  said  he  was  "kinder  spindlin',"  and  had 
given  him  much  herb-tea,  to  Joe's  great  disgust. 
He  was  a  brave  little  fellow,  seldom  complaining, 
yet  before  they  neared  the  village  he  sat  down  by 
the  roadside,  drops  of  sweat  upon  his  forehead,  and 
clenched  his  hands  to  keep  back  the  tears. 

Ruth  was  upon  her  knees  beside  him  in  an  in 
stant. 

"What  is  it,  Joe?"  she  said,  anxiously.  " Are 
you  in  pain  ?  " 


THE    DEATH    OF    LITTLE   JOE.  225 

"Oh,  my  back,  Miss  Ruth,  my  back!  I'm  all 
beat  out.  Don't  worry  " — he  looked  up  into  her 
face  with  a  wan  smile — "  it  isn't  so  bad.  I  guess  I 
can  walk  pretty  soon." 

She  waited  and  watched  him  for  some  moments, 
then  said : 

"  Now,  Joe,  you  have  been  my  good  knight  for 
so  long,  it  is  time  I  returned  some  of  my  debts.  I 
am  going  to  carry  you  home.  It  is  but  a  short 
distance,  and  you  are  not  heavy." 

"  No,  no,  Miss  Ruth,  I  never  could.     No,  no — 

"I  am  going  around  by  the  cliff;  it  is  a  short 
way;  nobody  passes  there,"  she  said,  coaxingly. 

At  this  Joe  tried  to  stand.  He  partially  rose 
upon  his  crutch,  steadied  himself,  then  with  a  little 
moan  fell  back  and  lay  still  upon  the  ground — so 
still  that  Ruth's  heart  failed  her  as  she  leaned  over 
him.  He  was  partially  conscious,  though  he  did 
not  speak. 

She  waited  for  nothing  further,  but  lifting  him 
in  her  arms  she  walked  briskly  forward.  Ruth  was 
strong,  and  the  cripple  was  thin  and  light.  She  car 
ried  him  down  the  steep  hillside  that  ran  near  the 
cliffs,  and  skirting  the  banks  she  reached  the  fishing- 
hamlet,  where  the  tiny  house  was  situated. 


226  OFF    LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

His  grandmother  was  at  her  day's  work.  The 
neighbors  came  in,  and  Joe  was  laid  upon  his  cot  in 
the  corner  of  the  one  room  the  abode  contained. 

Ruth  sat  beside  him,  his  hand  in  hers,  and  waited 
till  the  sun  went  down  and  the  darkness  of  the  short 
October  day  came  upon  them.  Then  she  rose  and 
closed  the  door,  as  the  air  that  came  in  was  crisp 
and  cool,  making  a  draft  along  the  wooden  floor. 
She  put  some  wood  upon  the  hearth ;  the  flames 
rose  and  lighted  the  room,  forming  dancing  shapes 
upon  the  ceiling. 

Joe  was  free  from  pain  now ;  the  paroxysms  had 
ceased.  He  was  looking  very  peaceful,  the  fire 
light  playing  across  his  face. 

"  Miss  Ruth,"  he  said,  "  I  didn't  quite  faint.  I 
knew  all  the  time  when  you  was  carryin'  me  down 
the  hill,  only  I  couldn't  speak.  You  was  so  good  to 
me,  and  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  forget.  I  can't  do  much, 
but  granny  says  I'm  a  master  hand  at  prayin'.  I 
always  prays  for  you  reg'lar,  Miss  Ruth.  Now  I'll 
pray  at  other  times  too — odd  times,  you  know." 

"  What  do  you  ask  for  me,  Joe,  when  you 
pray?" 

The  boy  hesitated.  "  I  ask  that — that — sorrow 
you  had  will  all  go  away;  that  sometime  you'll  go 


THE    DEATH    OF    LITTLE   JOE.  22 J 

to  church,  and — and — sit  in  the  big  square  pew.  I 
ain't  meanin'  any  offense,  Miss  Ruth,  and — and — I 
did  get  one  prayer  answered  about  you.  I  asked 
that  you  and  Mr.  Clayton  would  be  friends,  and 
you  are." 

She  turned  away  from  the  boy's  clear  gaze. 
"  Here's  granny,"  she  said ;  and  rising,  opened  the 
door  for  the  old  woman.  Then  she  turned  toward 
the  cot.  "  I  must  go,"  she  said. 

The  old  woman  bustled  into  the  room  and  up  to 
the  cot. 

"Wall,  for  the  land's  sake!"  she  said,  bending 
her  brown,  wrinkled  face  over  Joe.  "  Whatever 
hev  yer  been  up  to  now?  Yer  ain't  been  a-tryin' 
to  climb  any  nut-trees  with  a  crutch,  hev  yer?" 
Joe  laughed.  Then  she  turned  to  Ruth : 

"  As  I  was  a-comin'  from  Mrs.  Burton's  just  now 
I  see  Sarah  Munn.  She  said  she  see  yer  a-carryin' 
Joe.  Yer  was  a-goin'  down  the  cliff  road  at  a 
pretty  good  pace.  She  screamed  to  yer — she  was 
back  in  the  woods  a-gatherin'  barberries — but  yer 
didn't  hear  her.  I  didn't  stop  at  the  store  for  the 
tea  or  nothin' ;  I  just  hurried  right  home."  Then 
she  came  close  to  Ruth  and  they  walked  to  the 
door  together.  When  she  reached  the  door  she 


228  OFF    LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

stepped  outside,  then,  pointing  back  into  the  room, 
said,  "  He  ain't  long  for  this  world,  poor  creature!" 
She  sighed.  "  I  can't  want  to  keep  him,  Miss  Ruth. 
He's  failin'  fast.  Dr.  Goodyear  says  he  won't  last 
the  winter  out." 

Ruth  clutched  the  old  woman's  arm.  "What!" 
she  said,  hoarsely.  "  Joe  is  not  going  to  die?  " 

"Yes,"  said  granny,  "he's  a-goin' ;  he's  a-goin' 
fast." 

Ruth  released  her  hold  on  the  old  woman's  arm. 
Passing  back  into  the  room,  she  stood  by  the  cot 
and  looked  down  upon  Joe. 

"  I  came  back,  Joe,"  she  said,  "  to  say  good 
night  " — her  voice  trembled ;  the  boy  glanced  up 
and  smiled — "  and  to  tell  you  that  next  Sunday  I 
am  going  to  church  to  sit  in  the  square  pew." 

"O  Miss  Ruth!"  said  Joe.  He  partially  raised 
himself.  She  stooped  and  kissed  him,  then  went 
out  into  the  night,  closing  the  door  softly  behind 
her. 

It  was  as  granny  had  said — Joe  was  going  fast. 
He  never  left  his  cot  again,  though  the  crutch  was 
always  kept  close  by  its  side,  "  in  case,"  as  he  said, 
"  it  might  be  handy  when  I  get  better  and  feel  like 
gettin'  up." 


THE    DEATH    OF   LITTLE   JOE.  22Q 

It  was  just  before  Christmas  that  Mr.  Clayton 
called  one  snowy  afternoon  for  Ruth.  Joe  was 
worse  and  was  asking  for  her.  She  had  expected 
this  summons  many  days;  had  waited  for  it  with 
dread  coupled  with  a  bitter  sense  of  pain  and  loss. 

Why,  she  reasoned,  should  Joe  be  taken  from 
her?  He  was  the  link  between  her  rebellious  sor 
row  and  her  present  peace ;  for  if  not  happy,  she 
was  at  peace.  His  had  been  the  hand  that  had 
pointed  her  the  right  course.  Did  God  think  she 
was  strong  enough  to  find  her  way  alone?  Per 
haps  ;  but  she  needed  Joe,  her  little  messenger  of 
hope. 

She  walked  along  the  snow-covered  highway  by 
Mr.  Clayton's  side,  through  the  familiar  streets  of 
the  town,  down  to  the  fishing-hamlet,  where  the 
winds  blew  fierce  and  cutting  around  the  simple 
dwellings.  It  had  been  a  gray  afternoon ;  it  was 
settling  into  a  dark,  starless  night.  Across  the 
sky  snow-clouds  were  hurrying;  sleet  and  light 
rain  filled  the  atmosphere  at  intervals  with  a  dense 
mist. 

On  entering  the  house  they  encountered  Dr. 
Goodyear,  who  had  lifted  Joe's  head,  propped  him 
up  with  pillows,  and  had  then  gone  forward  and 


230  OFF    LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

taken  his  position  by  the  fire.  Old  granny  sat  at 
the  foot  of  the  bed,  her  head  bent  forward,  resting 
against  a  counterpane  thrown  across  the  foot-board. 
On  a  table  close  to  Joe's  hand  was  a  bunch  of 
Christmas  holly  and  evergreens.  All  pain  had  left 
the  boy,  and  he  looked  happy  and  peaceful.  His 
wistful  eyes,  which  seemed  to  look  out  upon  the 
world  as  though  ever  seeking  a  solution  of  his  trou 
ble,  had  a  satisfied  expression,  as  if  the  explanation 
was  near  at  hand. 

Ruth  went  quickly  to  him.  She  knew  he  was 
going  to  leave  her — going  very  soon ;  she  recog 
nized  it  in  that  new  expression  upon  his  face. 

"Joe,"  she  said,  "are  you  better?" 

"  Much  better,"  he  said.  "  I  have  no  pain  now. 
I've  been  thinkiri'  I  might  have  them  take  my 
crutch  away — I  sha'n't  want  it  any  more.  I'm 
glad  I  sha'n't  need  it.  It  was  hard,  Miss  Ruth,  al 
ways  walkin'  with  a  crutch." 

"  Yes,  Joe,"  she  said,  "  it  was  very  hard." 

"  I  wanted  to  see  you  come  up  the  aisle  once  in 
church — that's  what  I  was  keepin'  the  crutch  here 
for.  But  I  don't  mind  that  now.  Mr.  Clayton  says 
I  shall  not  mind  anything  soon ;  I'll  be  well  and 
happy." 


THE    DEATH    OF    LITTLE   JOE.  231 

Ruth  put  her  arms  about  him.  "  Yes,  dear  little 
Joe,"  she  said,  "you  will  be  well  and  happy." 

Joe  did  not  speak  for  some  time  after  that.  He 
rested  his  head  wearily  against  Ruth's  shoulder  and 
lay  still.  It  was  growing  dark.  Granny  lighted  the 
candles  upon  the  chimney-shelf  and  drew  the  curtain 
across  the  window  near  the  door.  She  would  have 
drawn  it  over  the  one  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  that 
faced  the  sea,  but  Joe  said,  "  No,  granny,  I  want  to 
see  the  water  and  the  lighthouse;"  so  they  left  the 
curtain  drawn  aside. 

When  the  night  came  on  and  the  lingering  glow 
of  the  short  winter  twilight  faded  from  the  sky,  Joe 
became  restless.  Ruth  moved  her  arm  from  be 
neath  his  head  and  laid  him  back  upon  his  pillow. 
He  looked  up  at  her  with  his  sweet,  trustful  smile. 

"You  are  so  good  to  me,"  he  said.  "I  kinder 
wish,  sometimes,  that  I  could  get  well.  I'd  like  to 
go  crabbin'  with  you  again ;  I  know  lots  of  places 
where  they're  fat  as  can  be.  I  guess  it's  all  right, 
though ;  Mr.  Clayton  says  'tis.  I  couldn't  never  be 
well,  you  know." 

"  You  will  soon  be  well — quite  well,  dear  little 
boy,"  said  Ruth,  with  a  tremor  in  her  voice. 

"  Yes,  quite  well  and  strong,  like  the  other  hoys. 


232  OFF    LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

Oh,  I  guess  it's  all  right.  I  wonder  if  I'll  feel  any 
better  to-morrow?  I  don't  think  I  feel  as  well  to 
night." 

He  did  not  speak  again  for  some  time  ;  then,  open 
ing  his  eyes,  he  looked  around  the  room  and  said : 

"  O  Mr.  Clayton,  I  can't  see  the  light  or  nothin'." 

Mr.  Clayton  put  his  strong  arm  around  the  little 
deformed  shoulders,  and  turning  his  face  toward 
Ruth,  he  said : 

"  You  see  Miss  Ruth,  don't  you,  Joe?  " 

"  Yes,  I  sees  her,  but  not  with  my  eyes ;  I  sees 
her  with  my  heart."  He  gave  a  little  sigh  and 
closed  his  eyes  forever. 

Ruth  fell  upon  her  knees  by  the  bedside,  and 
threw  her  arms  across  the  quiet  little  figure,  and 
bowed  her  head.  She  did  not  weep — she  could 
not ;  her  grief  and  sense  of  loss  were  too  great  for 
that. 

Dr.  Goodyear  stood  silently  by  the  fireplace, 
looking  gravely  into  the  flickering  flames  that  rose 
sparkling  from  the  hickory  logs. 

Old  granny  rocked  herself  back  and  forth  upon 
her  low  seat,  her  apron  over  her  head. 

"  If  it  hadn't  'a'  been  for  his  dad,"  she  moaned, 
"  h«  might  'a'  been  a  strong  boy  to-day,  and  pulled 


THE    DEATH    OF    LITTLE   JOE.  233 

an  oar  with  the  best  of  'em.  Ah!  he  was  a  hard, 
bad  man,  and  to  his  own,  too." 

Ruth  did  not  heed  her.  She  rose  slowly  from  her 
knees,  and  walking  totteringly  to  the  door,  threw  it 
open,  and  stood  a  moment  in  the  cold,  icy  air.  She 
was  faint,  and  leaned  tremblingly  against  the  door, 
looking  up  at  the  dark,  storm-driven  clouds.  She 
tried  to  think  of  Joe  as  well  and  happy,  straight 
and  strong  and  occupied;  not  wishing  for  aught  he 
left  here ;  understanding  the  mystery  of  death ;  he 
the  sage,  she  the  ignorant  one  ;  he  gone  forward  into 
the  light,  she  groping  in  the  darkness. 

Arthur  Clayton  followed  her  to  the  door  and 
stood  silently  by  her  side.  Suddenly  she  turned 
to  him  as  to  a  refuge  of  strength,  and  laid  her  hand 
upon  his  arm. 

"  My  little  comforter  has  gone,"  she  said.  "  Help 
me  to  bear  it.  I  come  to  you." 

He  took  her  hand  in  his,  and  together  they  went 
in  and  stood  by  Joe,  where  he  lay  so  still  upon  his 
cot.  His  face  was  peaceful,  as  though  death  had 
come  as  his  best-loved  friend. 

Ruth  placed  the  bunch  of  Christmas  holly  in  one 
small  hand. 

"  We  could  not  have  given  him  such  a  happy 


234  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

Christmas  as  he  will  have  with  the  angels,"  she 
said,  tearfully.  "  He  was  my  good  angel.  God 
sent  him  to  me.  I  shall  be  a  better  woman  be 
cause  little  Joe  has  lived." 

Arthur  took  her  home.  On  the  way  they  talked 
of  many  things ;  talked  in  a  calm,  sincere  strain  of 
the  future.  They  were  not  the  impulsive,  impas 
sioned  words  that  had  passed  between  Jack  and  her 
in  that  past  springtime  of  her  first  love,  when,  all 
unmindful  of  the  world,  her  home,  her  better  judg 
ment,  she  would  have  gone  with  her  lover,  forget 
ting  duty,  to  the  ends  of  the  earth.  No,  they  were 
the  words  of  a  calm,  sincere  woman  who  has  bid  the 
past  keep  its  secrets,  nor  parade  them  forth  in  the 
garish  light ;  who  has  taken  up  the  broken  links  and 
joined  them  by  the  power  of  a  quiet  affection — that 
affection,  on  the  man's  side  at  least,  as  strong  in  its 
depth  and  endurance  as  the  turbulent  passions  of 
early  youth. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,  Arthur,"  she  said,  as  she 
leaned  upon  his  arm,  looking  up  at  him,  "  why  it 
was,  when  I  stood  outside  granny's  door  and  knew 
Joe  had  left  me,  it  seemed  I  must  turn  to  you. 
Some  influence  compelled  me,  forced  me  to  feel 
you  would  help  me,  comfort  me.  Perhaps  Joe 


THE   DEATH    OF   LITTLE   JOE.  235 

stood  near  on  his  way  to  God,  counseled  me,  and  I 
felt  his  presence." 

Mr.  Clayton  removed  his  hat  reverently,  and 
said: 

"  All  praises  to  Him,  Ruth.  Through  the  hand 
of  a  little  child  He  has  opened  to  me  a  great  happi 
ness." 

Ruth  felt  calm,  at  rest,  even  happy ;  not,  of 
course,  the  wild,  impetuous  happiness  that  was  hers 
during  that  past  summer,  when  the  birds  seemed 
to  sing  sweeter  and  the  flowers  bloom  fairer  than 
ever  before  ;  instead,  a  restful  feeling,  as  though  she 
had  steered  her  bark  from  a  stormy  sea  into  a  safe 
haven,  and  was  rocking  lazily  on  the  tide,  a  stronger 
hand  than  hers  at  the  helm. 

Little  Joe  was  buried  Christmas  day,  in  a  new 
plot  that  Ruth  had  purchased.  She  was  the  last 
to  leave  him  to  his  quiet  sleep.  She  lingered  some 
time  beside  the  mound  of  frozen  earth,  then  turned 
reluctantly  away. 

"  Dear  little  Joe,"  she  murmured,  "  I  shall  try  to 
be  a  good  woman,  and  shall  always  remember  the 
fisher-folk  for  your  sake ;  you  would  have  liked  me 
to,  Joe."  She  stood  and  waited,  as  if  he  could 
answer  her,  then  looking  into  the  sky  she  said,  "  He 


236  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

cannot  answer  me,  yet  I  know  his  influence  has  helped 
shape  my  life,  and  always  will."  When  she  reached 
the  gate  of  the  hillside  graveyard  she  looked  back 
tearfully.  The  wind  blew  icy  cold.  She  clasped 
her  cloak  tightly  at  her  throat.  "  Good-by,  Joe," 
she  said.  "  You  have  given  me  strength  to  take 
up  my  new  life  and  help  me  to  forget  the  old. 
Good-by." 

She  went  slowly  down  the  steep  incline  and  passed 
the  church.  Mr.  Clayton  came  out  and  joined  her. 
He  saw  the  tear-stains  upon  her  face. 

"  I  stayed  by  his  grave  till  the  others  had  gone," 
she  said,  softly.  "  I  needed  him  to-day.  I  have 
been  haunted  by  thoughts  of — of — Jack."  She 
looked  up  tearfully.  "  They  were  only  thoughts ; 
I  shall  soon  be  calm.  You  will  not  blame  me?  " 

He  looked  tenderly  upon  her.  "  I  understand, 
Ruth,"  he  said,  "  I  understand.  You  have  been 
truthful  with  me;  I  shall  not  expect  too  much." 

Suddenly  she  turned  passionately  from  him.  "  I 
am  not  a  good  woman;  I  rebel,"  she  said.  "You 
will  bear  with  me,  and — and — help  me?" 

"  I  will,  God  helping  me,"  he  said,  earnestly. 


CHAPTER     XIV., 
MRS.  LORRIMER'S  ILLNESS. 

WHEN  it  became  known  in  Lynnport  that  Mr. 
Clayton  and  Miss  Lorrimer  were  to  be  mar 
ried,  nothing  but  commendation  and  the  highest 
praises  in  favor  of  the  alliance  were  heard  on  every 
side.  "  So  suitable  in  every  way,"  said  the  busy 
ones  who  generally  settled  the  affairs  of  the  town. 
"  Proper  ages,  proper  positions,  and  Miss  Lorrimer 
will  inherit  her  grandmother's  wealth.  What  an  in 
strument  for  good  she  will  become  under  the  gui 
dance  of  such  a  man  as  Arthur  Clayton!" 

It  was  some  days  after  little  Joe's  death  when 
Ruth  told  her  grandmother  of  her  plans.  The  old 
lady  was  sitting  in  her  favorite  high-backed  chair 
in  the  drawing-room.  She  rarely  moved  from  it 
now,  except  to  be  carried  to  her  apartment.  She 
was  very  feeble,  her  tenure  of  life  short  and  un 
certain. 

237 


238  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

Ruth  was  sitting  that  afternoon  by  the  spinet, 
singing  an  old  Scotch  love-song  that  had  been  a 
favorite  of  Joe's.  The  refrain, 

"  He  loved  me  ay  well  in  spite  of  a'," 

had  pleased  Joe,  who  had  said  that  was  what  he 
believed  in ;  "  in  spite  of  a'  " — that  was  how  he 
wanted  to  love  people. 

Ruth  was  thinking  of  Arthur  Clayton  as  she  sang. 
He  loved  her  "  in  spite  of  a'."  She  had  been  truth 
ful,  had  told  him  she  had  given  Jack  her  best  love ; 
yet  he  loved  her  just  the  same,  believed  in  her,  and 
was  patient  with  her.  Her  hands  fell  with  a  crash 
upon  the  keys ;  she  leaned  her  head  upon  them. 

"What  is  it,  child?"  called  Mrs.  Lorrimer's  soft 
voice,  anxiously. 

Ruth  went  to  her,  and  sat  down  on  a  low  foot- 
rest  at  her  feet,  just  as  she  used  to  when  she  was  a 
little  girl. 

"  Grandmother,"  she  said,  "  I  am  going  to  marry 
Arthur  Clayton.  I  have  told  him  all  about  Jack, 
and  he  is  satisfied.  But  oh!  it  is  so  different,  so 
different  from  what  I — I — had  always  thought — " 
Her  voice  trembled  ;  she  did  not  finish  the  sentence. 

"  My  dear  child,  I  am  glad ;  you  have  made  me 


MRS.  LORRIMER'S  ILLNESS.  239 

very  happy.  I  have  wished  for  this  a  long  while. 
Now  I  can  die  in  peace."  She  placed  her  hands 
on  Ruth's  head  as  though  in  benediction. 

Presently  Jane  came  in,  carrying  Tetsy,  who  in 
the  last  few  years  had  grown  too  stout  and  asthmatic 
for  much  locomotion. 

"  Jane,"  said  her  sister,  "  come  here.  I  want  to 
tell  you  that  all  is  as  we  hoped :  Ruth  is  going  to 
marry  Mr.  Clayton." 

"  I  am  glad,"  said  Jane,  heartily ;  "  he  is  a  good 
man." 

Ruth  rose  slowly  from  her  low  position.  A  reac 
tion  had  set  in.  The  present  joy  became  contrasted 
in  her  mind  with  that  time,  only  a  few  short  years 
ago,  when  Jack  had  been  forbidden  the  house  and 
she  had  been  forced  to  meet  him  clandestinely. 
She  brushed  her  hair  nervously  from  her  forehead. 
She  must  not  think  of  that  time ;  it  was  not  right. 

Jane  watched  her  sharply ;  then,  placing  Tetsy 
upon  the  sofa — who  was  deeply  angered  by  the 
action,  evincing  his  displeasure  in  low  mutterings — 
she  went  to  Ruth  and  said : 

"Ruth,  your  heart  is  in  this  marriage,  is  it  not? 
If  not,  give  it  up  while  there  is  time."  Jane  spoke 
almost  peremptorily. 


240  OFF   LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

"  I  wish  it,  Aunt  Jane,"  said  Ruth,  with  gentle 
dignity.  "  No  one  has  coerced  me.  Arthur  knows 
I  do  not  love  him  as  I  loved  Jack,  but  I  love  him 
with  all  the  heart  I  have  left.  I  am  looking  for 
ward,  as  his  wife,  to  leading  a  useful  life  and  doing 
my  duty." 

"If,"  said  Jane,  slowly,  "Jack  should  come 
back  ?  " 

Ruth  started,  drawing  her  breath  hard. 

"  He  will  never  come  back,  and  if — he  should, 
were  I  Arthur  Clayton's  wife  I  should  still  do  my 
duty." 

"  Ruth,"  she  said,  "  you  will  be  a  happy  woman 
some  day;  the  river  will  find  its  true  course." 

It  was  February  when  Mrs.  Lorrimer  came  down 
stairs  for  the  last  time.  The  stately  chatelaine  of 
the  manor  would  no  longer  sit  in  her  rustling  bro 
cades  among  the  portraits  of  her  ancestors,  no  longer 
dispense  the  old-time  courteous  hospitality  of  the 
mansion.  She  had  looked  her  last,  from  her  seat  in 
the  north  drawing-room,  upon  the  rolling  waters  of 
the  harbor.  She  sat  now  in  her  sunny  window 
near  her  bed,  watching  the  lengthening  February 
days  and  the  snow  slowly  melting  from  the  hill 
side. 


MRS.  LORRIMER'S  ILLNESS.  241 

Hers  was  a  tranquil  old  age.  The  dark  shadows 
of  her  early  youth  had  become  tempered  through 
the  lapse  of  years.  Much  of  the  bitterness  that 
had  lain  dormant,  only  to  be  aroused  to  life  once 
more  through  Ruth's  luckless  love-affair,  had  passed 
away ;  the  vague  terrors  that  had  assumed  giant 
proportions  faded  forever.  Ruth  was  safe  in  the 
sheltered  care  of  a  good  man ;  she  felt  no  further 
anxiety  for  her.  So  the  old  lady  sat  and  dreamed 
and  dozed  in  the  pale  sunshine  of  those  early  spring 
days.  The  delicate  outline  of  her  chiseled  features 
grew  sharper  and  her  faded  eyes  dimmer.  She  sat 
patiently  waiting.  Her  thoughts  were  peaceful — 
thoughts  such  as  a  child  might  have — as  she  watched 
the  busy  little  winter  wrens  disputing  with  the  early 
bluebirds  and  robins  for  the  crumbs  thrown  upon 
the  cold  earth  for  them  by  Ruth ;  she  smiled  when 
they  pecked  at  one  another  with  shrill  clamor  over 
some  tempting  morsel. 

Ruth  came  in  one  day  with  a  cluster  of  pale  cro 
cuses  in  her  hand ;  she  had  found  them  in  a  shel 
tered  place  under  the  garden  hedge,  where  the  sun 
shone  earliest  in  the  morning. 

Her  grandmother  took  them  with  a  smile,  and 
held  them  against  Ruth's  face. 


242  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

"  They  seem  like  yourself,  Ruth,"  she  said,  "  so 
pale  and  fair;  you  have  no  red  cheeks,  dear,  any 
more." 

"  No,"  said  Ruth.  "  I  am  growing  old,  you 
know,  grandmother;  I  cannot  look  like  a  chubby 
child  always." 

Mrs.  Lorrimer  sighed,  then  drawing  Ruth  to  her 
she  kissed  her  on  her  brow. 

"  My  child,"  she  said,  "  you  have  been  a  good 
granddaughter;  you  have  made  much  of  the  hap 
piness  of  my  life.  I  have  something  I  wish  to  say 
to  you."  She  paused  and  scanned  the  earnest  face 
watching  her.  "  Arthur  is  patient,"  she  said,  "  and 
would  not  urge  you ;  I,  dear,  wish  to  see  you  mar 
ried  before  I  leave  you.  I  should  like  to  see  you 
safe;  it  would  make  me  content." 

Ruth  folded  her  hands  and  gazed  from  the  win 
dow  over  the  woods  and  hills  of  the  distant  farming 
country.  She  could  not  see  the  ocean  from  where 
she  stood,  yet  in  her  ears  it  seemed  to  surge  and 
throb  and  moan.  In  fancy  she  beheld  great  ships, 
and — and — Jack,  where  was  he?  Was  he  dead  or 
living?  Had  he  forgotten  her?  She  drew  herself 
together  with  an  effort,  and  said : 

"  As  you  wish,  grandmother ;  I  have  given  my 


MRS.  LORRIMER'S  ILLNESS.  243 

promise."  Then,  more  hurriedly:  "Let  there  be 
no  parade  and  show;  that  is  not  necessary." 

"  You  are  Miss  Lorrimer,  of  the  manor,"  said  the 
old  lady,  with  gentle  dignity ;  "  does  not  your  posi 
tion  have  its  obligations?  " 

"  I  could  not  stand  it,"  said  Ruth,  quickly.  "  No, 
let  us  be  married  quietly  here  in  this  room  by  your 
side.  I  am  going  to  be  a  clergyman's  wife;  I  do 
not  wish  to  commence  with  pomp  and  display.  Do 
you  not  understand,  grandmother,  that  I  am  going 
to  give  up  my  life  to  duty?  " 

"  Do  not  say  that,  Ruth,"  exclaimed  her  grand 
mother,  quickly,  "  or  I  shall  feel  remorse.  You  will 
be  happy.  It  is  not  all  duty,  dear;  is  there  no  love 
in  it?" 

"  Oh,  do  not  ask  me,  do  not  ask  me ! "  She 
walked  to  the  window  and  stood  looking  out  for  a 
long  time.  She  did  not  see  the  sloping  hillside,  or 
the  pale  green  peeping  here  and  there  from  the 
brown  earth,  or  the  shivering  robins.  Her  vision 
was  hidden  by  a  thick  mist  of  unshed  tears,  and  her 
fancy  saw  the  wharves  of  Lynnport,  the  "  Bonny 
Kate,"  and  Jack.  Presently  she  came  back  and 
stood  by  Mrs.  Lorrimer's  chair. 

"  I  am  better  now,"  she  said,  sadly.     "  I  get  think- 


244  OFF    LYNNPORT- LIGHT. 

ing  sometimes,  that  is  all.  Oh,"  she  concluded, 
passionately,  "if  one  could  only  stop  thinking!" 

It  all  came  about  as  Ruth  wished.  Some  weeks 
after,  when  spring  had  really  come  to  the  land,  not 
coyly,  bashfully,  but  in  all  its  great  beauty  of  green 
fields,  flowers,  and  sunshine,  with  singing  birds  and 
hurrying  brooks,  Ruth  was  married.  She  stood  in 
Mrs.  Lorrimer's  room,  in  her  wedding-dress  of  glis 
tening  satin  and  priceless  lace.  Mrs.  Lorrimer  had 
insisted  upon  this;  no  simple  muslin  gown  for  the 
last  of  the  Lorrimers,  for  the  heiress  of  the  manor 
— no,  Ruth  must  uphold  her  position.  When  she 
came  to  the  old  lady  before  the  ceremony,  with  the 
hereditary  lace  veil  of  the  Lorrimers  upon  her  soft 
brown  hair,  her  grandmother  clasped  about  her 
throat  the  family  pearls  that  had  graced  many  a 
young  bride  in  the  days  gone  by. 

"The  Lorrimer  pearls,  dear,"  she  whispered; 
"  may  they  take  a  blessing  with  them." 

Ruth  felt  their  cold  clasp  upon  her  neck,  and 
shivered. 

They  were  married  and  gone  ;  gone  to  Boston,  to 
Mr.  Clayton's  old  home,  for  the  honeymoon.  The 
mansion  settled  down  to  its  wonted  quiet,  with  its 


MRS.  LORRIMER'S  ILLNESS.  245 

stately  owner  sitting  and  dreaming  in  her  sunny 
window. 

Lynnport  considered  itself  defrauded  of  a  wed 
ding-feast.  Many  remarks  of  disapprobation  were 
leveled  at  the  heads  of  the  "  old  family." 

"  Just  as  though  she  was  ashamed  of  him,"  said 
Mrs.  Burton.  "  I  never  did  understand  Ruth  Lor- 
rimer;  she  has  changed  in  the  last  few  years.  I 
sometimes  think  she  had  a  disappointment." 

This  remark  had  been  addressed  to  Dr.  Goodyear, 
one  morning,  as  he  stood  clipping  his  rose-vines, 
cutting  them  back  for  budding  later  in  the  season. 
Mrs.  Burton  was  leaning  over  the  gate  watching 
him. 

"There  you  ladies  go,"  he  said,  loudly;  "it  is 
always  a  disappointment  with  you.  Look  at  me, 
Mrs.  Burton,  if  you  want  to  see  a  victim  of  disap 
pointment."  He  came  toward  the  gate,  holding  a 
thorny  rose-vine  in  one  hand  and  the  great  clip 
ping-shears  in  the  other.  "  I  have  waited  to  get 
married  for  thirty  years,  yet  you  ladies  never  set 
tled  upon  me  as  a  possible  victim  of  blighted  hopes. 
You  are  not  discriminating,  Mrs.  Burton;  you  take 
Ruth  Lorrimer  and  weave  a  romance  about  her  be- 


246  OFF   LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

cause  she  is  young  and  fair;  you  leave  me  out  of 
your  reckoning  because  I  am — ahem! — old — and 
fat." 

Mrs.  Burton  laughed.  "  Perhaps  you  are  right, 
doctor,"  she  said.  "We  women  are  romantic;  we 
do  love  a  wedding  and  a  bride.  Ruth  has  changed ; 
you  certainly  have  noticed  that?" 

"  I  haven't  noticed  anything,"  said  the  doctor, 
innocently.  "  Keep  on  hoping;  perhaps  I'll  have  a 
wedding  some  day  and  gratify  you,"  the  doctor 
concluded,  with  a  gloomy  smile  that  sat  ill  upon 
his  jolly  face. 

Mrs.  Burton  shook  her  head  and  passed  down 
the  hill. 

The  doctor  stood  looking  after  her,  ruminating. 
"  I  hope  the  women  will  not  gossip  about  Ruth, 
poor  child !  The  talkers  of  Lynnport  have  good 
tongues  when  they  set  them  going.  Ruth's  a  lucky 
girl  if  she  only  knew  it;  Arthur  Clayton  is  a  man 
in  a  thousand." 

The  doctor  became  so  absorbed  in  his  thoughts 
that  he  did  not  see  Mrs.  Munn  dart  rapidly  around 
the  side  of  the  house  to  the  rear  door;  in  fact,  he 
was  partially  hidden  by  the  low- falling  branches  of 
the  elm  that  grew  in  the  street  in  front  of  his  house. 


MRS.  LORRIMER'S  ILLNESS.  247 

He  became  conscious  presently  of  loud  voices,  and 
cries  from  his  old  housekeeper  of  "  Doctor,  doctor, 
where  are  you  ?  "  He  hurried  into  the  house,  to 
see  Mrs.  Munn  with  tears  streaming  down  her  face, 
and  her  hands  beating  the  air  as  she  walked  up  and 
down  his  tiny  kitchen. 

"  Be  calm,  Mrs.  Munn,"  he  said,  sternly.  "  What 
is  the  matter?  " 

"Oh  deary,  deary!  she's  gone,  she's  gone!" 

"Who's  gone?"  he  said,  walking  after  her;  and 
taking  her  arm,  he  forced  her  to  stand  still. 

"  The  old  lady — Mrs.  Lorrimer.  They  just  went 
upstairs,  Miss  Jane  and  her  maid,  and  they  found 
her  in  her  chair  by  the  window,  where  she  always 
sits.  She  was  so  still  they  thought  she  was  asleep; 
when  they  went  closer  they  found  she  was  gone. 
O  doctor,  she  looked  beautiful ;  she  was  smiling  like 
a  child,  and  the  sunshine  was  so  bright  on  her  white 
hair." 

"  When  did  this  happen  ?  "  said  the  doctor. 

"  Not  an  hour  ago ;  the  whole  house  is  upset.  I 
was  up  there  with  a  message  from  Miss  Kate,  and  I 
told  Miss  Jane  that  I'd  run  all  the  way  to  town  and 
tell  you.  Miss  Jane  wanted  you,  though  what  good 
you  can  do,  for  the  life  of  me  I  can't  see;  when 


248  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

death  comes  you  have  got  to  stand,  like  the  rest  "of 
us,  with  folded  hands." 

"  That  will  do,  Mrs.  Munn,"  said  the  doctor, 
gravely ;  "  I  shall  go  immediately.  Did  they  say 
when  they  expected  Mrs.  Clayton  home?" 

"  The  day  after  to-morrow,  Miss  Jane  said.  Ah, 
poor  Miss  Ruth !  she'll  begin  her  wedded  life  with 
a  sorrow." 

The  doctor  did  not  wait  to  hear  anything  more ; 
presently  the  sound  of  his  wagon-wheels  was  heard 
as  he  drove  out  of  the  yard. 

"  He's  a  masterful  man,"  said  Mrs.  Munn,  look 
ing  after  him  as  he  drove  past  the  kitchen  window  ; 
then,  turning  to  the  old  housekeeper,  added,  "  How 
long  have  you  been  here,  Martha?  " 

"  A  good  many  years,  Sarah  Munn,  a  good  many 
years." 

"  Did  the  doctor  never  think  of  gettin'  married, 
think  you?"  queried  Mrs.  Munn. 

"Gettin'  married!"  screamed  Martha.  "Good 
land !  not  as  I  knows  on.  Why,  what'd  become  of 
me  if  he  got  married?" 

"  I  ain't  deaf,  Martha,  if  you  are,"  said  Mrs.  Munn, 
with  asperity.  "  Do  you  want  the  neighbors  to  hear 
us  talkin'  about  the  doctor's  gettin'  married?" 


MRS.  LORRIMER'S  ILLNESS.  249 

"  No,  but  you  are  so  scareful." 

"  Scareful  or  not  scareful,  I  shouldn't  be  sur 
prised  if  he'd  get  married  some  day." 

"  He's  pretty  old,"  said  Martha,  hopefully. 

"  He's  none  too  old ;  why,  look  at  Dan  Monson, 
down  at  the  cove ;  wasn't  he  nigh  onto  eighty  ? 
Didn't  he  marry  after  swearin'  he  never  would  ? — 
no  women  should  step  across  his  threshold  and 
spend  his  money ;  he  called  them  all  instruments 
of  Satan." 

"  I  remember,"  said  Martha,  mournfully.  "  Old 
Dan  got  punished  ;  Mrs.  Monson  was  a  fearful  char 
acter." 

"  Good  enough  for  him,  crabbed,  unreasonable 
creature!"  said  Mrs.  Munn. 

"  Have  you  heard  of  any  likely  person  for  the 
doctor,  Sarah?"  said  Martha,  dolefully. 

"  No,  I  ain't ;  I  just  have  an  idea  of  my  own ; 
perhaps  I  am  mistaken.  I  sha'n't  say  nothin'  about 
it,  and  don't  you;  the  doctor  wouldn't  like  it." 

"  I  sha'n't  say  nothin',  Sarah ;  only  I  wish  you 
hadn't  told  me.  Of  course  it'll  be  a  young  thing 
that'll  pull  everything  to  pieces  in  the  house,  tear 
up  the  garden,  and  then  break  his  heart  by  runnin' 
away  with  some  good-for-nothin'." 


250  OFF   LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

Mrs.  Munn  had  risen  to  go ;  she  stood  on  the 
stone  door-step  of  the  kitchen,  her  hand  upon  the 
knob,  and  turned  and  eyed  Martha  in  amazement 
at  the  conclusion  of  this  speech. 

"  Well,  for  the  land's  sake,  Martha,  how  you  do 
run  on !  Have  you  been  readin'  any  of  those  fool 
ish  love-stories  at  your  time  of  life  ?  I  don't  think 
he's  such  a  fool  as  you  want  to  make  him  out." 

Stepping  briskly  over  the  step,  she  passed  around 
the  side  path  to  the  gate ;  she  held  her  skirts  very 
high,  her  large  gaitered  feet  making  deep  impres 
sions  in  the  soft  earth.  Martha  stood  watching  her. 
When  she  reached  the  gate  she  called  back : 

"  Don't  you  go  and  get  discouraged ;  no  one's 
goin'  to  tear  up  this  garden,  I  can  tell  you  that." 

Then,  squaring  her  shoulders,  she  marched  down 
the  hill  to  the  lower  street,  the  consciousness  of 
being  the  first  to  convey  the  important  news  of  the 
death  at  the  manor-house  lending  an  added  stiffness 
to  her  erect  carriage. 

Ruth  came  home  from  her  wedding-journey  in 
time  to  see  her  grandmother  laid  in  the  grim  Lor- 
rimer  vault  in  the  little  graveyard.  She  shed  many 
tears  as  she  clung  to  her  husband's  arm  that  lovely 
June  day,  and  heard  the  click  of  the  gates  of  the 


MRS.  LORRIMER'S  ILLNESS.  251 

vault,  and  knew  that  the  beautiful  face  which  had 
never  held  aught  for  her  but  a  smile  of  love  was 
hidden  from  her  forever.  She  sat  for  some  time  on 
the  soft  grass  of  the  terrace,  waiting  till  the  grave 
yard  was  quiet  and  the  great  concourse  of  people 
and  the  long  line  of  carriages  had  disappeared  down 
the  hill,  when  she  said : 

"  Arthur,  I  shall  never  live  at  the  manor  again ; 
it  cannot  be  the  same  without  grandmother.  We 
will  begin  our  life  in  the  rectory." 

So  they  began  life  in  the  rectory,  a  fine  old  roomy 
house,  square,  with  gambrel-roof  and  dormer-win 
dows,  a  relic  of  Puritan  days.  It  had  been  bought 
and  presented  to  the  church  by  Mrs.  Lorrimer  for 
the  aged  rector,  Mr.  Clayton's  predecessor. 

When  Jane  remonstrated  with  Ruth  upon  her 
decision,  she  said,  sadly : 

"  Do  not  urge  me,  Aunt  Jane.  The  old  house  is 
full  of  ghosts — ghosts  in  the  hall,  on  the  stairs,  and 
in  the  garret ;  I  see  them  everywhere,  and  hear  their 
footsteps.  I  shall  be  happier  in  the  rectory." 

"  I  shall  stay ;  I  am  not  afraid  of  any  ghost,"  said 
Jane,  decidedly.  "Ghosts!  what  nonsense!" 

Jane  stayed  in  the  old  house,  though  she  seldom 
entered  the  garret  or  the  north  drawing-room.  She 


252  OFF    LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

wished  Ruth  had  not  spoken  of  ghosts ;  not  that  she 
believed  in  such  arrant  foolishness — oh  no  ;  still,  one 
sometimes  thought  of  strange  things  when  one  was 
alone  in  such  a  large  house.  She  grew  to  dread  the 
sight  of  the  paintings  on  the  wainscoted  walls  of  the 
drawing-room,  and  kept  the  door  closed,  placing  a 
great  carved  seat  before  it.  People  asked  her  why 
she  did  so,  and  she  said  there  was  a  draft  from  the 
room ;  she  would  not  have  confessed  to  seeing 
ghosts,  though  they  were  beginning  to  lurk  for  her 
also  in  the  shadowy  room,  where  the  portrait  of  her 
father  looked  down  upon  the  high,  carved  chair, 
now,  alas!  empty  by  the  fireless  hearth. 

Sometimes  Jane,  with  Tetsy  in  her  arms,  accom 
panied  by  a  housemaid,  would  make  a  tour  of  the 
stately  apartment  and  superintend  the  readjusting 
of  furniture,  while  the  maid  dusted,  and  opened  the 
windows  to  let  in  the  air  and  the  sunlight.  She 
would  gaze  sadly  at  the  silent  spinet  before  which 
her  beautiful  sister  sat  so  often  in  the  days  long 
ago,  and  where  baby  Ruth  loved  to  beat  her  dimpled 
hands  on  the  keys.  At  these  recollections  Jane 
would  stand  motionless  in  the  center  of  the  great 
high-ceilinged  room,  and,  much  to  the  maid's  sur 
prise,  look  before  her  into  vacancy;  then  with  a 


MRS.  LORRIMER'S  ILLNESS.  253 

long-drawn  sigh  would  start  and  give  her  orders 
briskly.  The  dusting  and  sweeping  finished,  she 
would  order  the  shutters  closed,  the  curtains  drawn, 
and  leave  the  room  to  the  spectral  visions  her  fancy 
had  conjured,  from  the  realities  that  had  gone  for 
ever. 

Looking  back  into  the  dim  apartment  from  the 
cheerful  hall,  she  appeared  to  see  a  shadowy  form 
in  the  dress  of  other  days,  with  powdered  hair  and 
stiff  brocade,  standing  in  all  her  exquisite  beauty 
before  the  fire,  and  by  her  side  the  dark,  sinister 
face  of  the  black- browed  captain. 

"  Close  the  door!"  she  would  say,  sharply,  to  the 
maid;  "  I  feel  the  draft  about  my  feet;  the  wind  is 
blowing  from  the  north." 

Poor  Jane  was  very  lonely,  and  to  her  unspeak 
able  disgust  she  was  beginning  to  appreciate  that 
in  her  rugged  organization  lurked  a  set  of  sensitive 
nerves. 

"Yes,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  I  am  lonely;  I  miss 
Mary,  I  miss  Ruth."  Many  a  tear  dropped  upon 
Tetsy's  back  as  she  held  him  in  her  arms.  "  It  is 
hard  to  be  old  and  alone,  and  no  one  to  tell  it  to 
but  Tetsy." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

DR.  GOODYEAR   TRIUMPHANT. 

RUTH  had  been  married  over  a  year.  Very 
peacefully  and  quietly  had  life  passed  in  the  rec 
tory.  The  young  wife  had  become  accustomed  to 
her  new  career;  the  unending  round  of  parish  duties 
incumbent  upon  her  position  interested  her,  giving 
her  little  time  for  other  things. 

Ruth  could  not  say  she  was  happy  or  unhappy — 
she  did  not  analyze  her  feelings  on  the  subject ;  by 
force  of  will  and  constant  occupation  she  silenced 
repinings  and  regrets.  Life  was  pleasant,  and  her 
husband  was  kind-  and  devoted.  Each  day  revealed 
to  her  the  noble  traits  in  his  character :  the  unselfish 
ness  and  gentleness  combined  with  strength,  which 
made  him  stand  a  man  among  men.  No  smallness, 
no  petty  meanness,  had  room  in  a  being  formed  in 
such  a  mold. 

Ruth  had  deemed  her  heart  and  entire  being  had 
254 


DR.  GOODYEAR   TRIUMPHANT.  255 

gone  through  a  period  of  transition  after  Jack  left 
her;  the  capabilities  of  love  had  been  destroyed  at 
that  great,  overpowering  crisis,  never  to  live  again. 
She  was  startled  and  overwhelmed  when,  at  the 
birth  of  her  child,  the  flood  came  rushing  back  upon 
her  soul.  She  gazed  with  passionate  eagerness  into 
the  tiny  face,  a  wealth  of  love  in  her  eyes.  This 
little  helpless  creature  aroused  her  from  the  indiffer 
ence  she  had  supposed  her  natural  state ;  made  her 
know  new  hopes,  new  desires.  She  would  live  again 
and  be  happy  ;  she  had  an  object  in  view,  a  destiny, 
a  life-work. 

Her  husband  watched  her  sadly ;  she  had  never 
revealed  that  smile  for  him.  He  turned  away  his 
head,  his  firm  lips  trembled ;  he  did  not  speak,  only 
leaned  over  her  where  she  lay  with  that  ecstatic  joy 
lighting  her  features,  the  child  upon  her  arm,  and 
kissed  her  silently. 

Sweet,  submissive,  gentle,  a  model  wife  she  was, 
but  not  a  loving  one.  The  barrier  that  had  been 
between  them  the  day  they  were  married  was  there 
still ;  an  invisible  barrier,  yet  recognized  by  both. 

Ruth's  joy  was  short-lived  ;  the  child  was  delicate  ; 
the  little  one  soon  left  her  with  empty  arms.  Like 
a  dark  curtain  the  old  apathy  settled  upon  her;  she 


256  OFF   LYNXPORT    LIGHT. 

knew  the  truth  now — that  love  had  not  died  within 
her,  but  her  husband  did  not  share  it;  she  could 
not  give  it  to  him.  "  O  Father,"  she  murmured, 
the  day  her  child  was  buried,  "have  pity  on  me! 
make  me  a  good  woman,  and  more  worthy  of  my 
husband's  love." 

Jane  came  often  to  the  rectory,  so  often  that  the 
Lynnport  people  thought  she  was  growing  weary 
of  her  lonely  life  in  the  partly  closed  manor.  What 
the  gossips  surmised  was  strictly  true :  Jane  was 
lonely  and  depressed ;  if  it  had  not  been  for  Tetsy 
she  could  not  have  endured  the  silence  and  dreari 
ness  of  the  empty  house. 

Tetsy  proved  himself  a  friend  in  need.  Perhaps 
his  dog  nature  understood  more  than  mortals  sur 
mise;  at  any  rate,  he  never  left  his  mistress,  and 
was  cordiality  and  devotion  combined.  He  was 
growing  quite  genteel  in  size,  owing  to  constantly 
pattering  after  her,  upstairs  and  down,  wherever  her 
nervous  steps  led  her.  Though  old,  he  was  appa 
rently  renewing  the  days  of  his  youth,  and  at  times 
indulged  in  mild  capers  when  his  mistress  was  sad 
dest,  at  which  superannuated  antics  Jane  would  smile, 
then  become  alarmed  for  her  favorite's  health.  He 
would  offer  her  his  paw  at  odd,  inconceivable 


DR.  GOODYEAR    TRIUMPHANT.  257 

moments,  and  when  this  would  not  arouse  her  from 
a  reverie  would  jump  into  her  lap,  whining  softly 
to  himself,  and  gaze  into  her  face  with  his  large  in 
telligent  eyes. 

In  the  early  fall,  some  fifteen  months  after  Mrs. 
Lorrimer's  death,  a  dire  calamity  fell  upon  the  in 
mates  of  the  homestead :  Tetsy  was  lost  or  stolen ; 
he  had  not  been  seen  for  nearly  a  whole  day.  Jane 
was  distracted ;  with  head-dress  disheveled  and 
shawl  flying  from  her  shoulders,  she  ran  up  and 
down  stairs  and  out  into  the  garden,  calling  his 
name  wildly.  The  stable-man,  with  broom  and 
pitchfork,  ransacked  every  conceivable  part  of  his 
department,  Tetsy  at  times  having  a  predilection 
for  certain  musty  corners  of  the  stable,  where  rats 
were  supposed  to  flee  before  him ;  but  no  Tetsy  re 
sponded.  The  cook  and  maid  searched  garret  and 
cellar  without  success.  At  last,  when  all  efforts  had 
failed,  Jane  sat  down  in  the  hall,  and,  unmindful  of 
the  stares  of  the  maid  and  the  open-mouthed  stable 
man,  burst  into  tears. 

"He  was  all  I  had,"  she  said,  brokenly;  "he 
was  a  great  comfort  to  me.  I  suppose  some  dread 
ful  boys  have  stolen  him  and  will  abuse  him." 

"No,"  said   the  man,  "they  won't  abuse  him; 


258  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

they'll  only  keep  him  till  yer  offers  a  reward — a 
good  big  reward — then  they'll  bring  him  back; 
that's  all  the  mean  critters  want." 

This  motive  for  action  roused  Jane,  and  she 
started  up.  "  Go  to  the  village,"  she  cried;  "  offer 
them  anything  they  ask.  I  will  give  any  price," 
she  continued,  recklessly. 

The  man  departed  with  all  possible  speed  upon 
his  errand. 

The  morning  of  that  day  a  scene  had  been  enacted 
between  Dr.  Goodyear  and  two  vicious  urchins  from 
the  fishing-town.  He  had  been  driving  slowly 
along  a  sequestered  road  on  his  way  home  from  a 
professional  call  at  a  distant  farm.  Seeing  two  boys 
quarreling  in  a  field,  with  a  little  fluffy  terrier  tied 
to  a  tree  near  by,  he  stopped  and  watched  them 
curiously ;  not  that  fighting  boys  were  an  unusual 
sight  to  the  doctor,  but  this  dog  had  a  strangely 
familiar  look.  Where  had  he  seen  him  before,  with 
the  blue  ribbon  on  his  neck  ?  Very  few  dogs  in 
Lynnport  wore  blue  ribbons.  Suddenly  it  dawned 
upon  him  that  it  was  Tetsy.  It  did  not  take  him 
very  long  to  leap  from  his  gig,  jump  the  stone  wall, 
and  cross  the  field. 

"  Boys,"  he  said,  sternly,   drawing  them  apart, 


DR.  GOODYEAR   TRIUMPHANT.  259 

tearing  the  jackets  of  each  as  he  did  so,  "  what 
are  you  fighting  about?  Where  did  you  get  that 
dog?" 

"  He's  our  dog,"  said  one,  sullenly. 

"  Don't  lie  to  me,"  said  the  doctor;  "  I  know  that 
dog — you  have  stolen  him.  If  you  don't  get  out  of 
this  pretty  quick  I'll  have  you  both  in  the  lockup; 
march,  double  quick — do  you  hear?" 

"He  did  it,"  said  one,  beginning  to  cry;  "he 
stole  him  out  of  Miss  Weston's  garden.  He  said 
we'd  make  money  out  of  him.  I  didn't  want  to  do 
it;  he  made  me." 

"  Get  out  of  here,"  said  the  doctor,  waving  his 
hand  and  glaring  fiercely  upon  them. 

The  boys  slunk  away.  The  doctor  lifted  poor, 
trembling,  frightened  Tetsy  in  his  arms,  and  strode, 
muttering,  across  the  meadows  to  his  gig.  Just  as 
he  was  about  to  place  his  foot  upon  the  step  of  his 
carriage  the  greatest  temptation  of  his  life  assailed 
him;  and  to  which,  after  a  brief,  tempestuous  mental 
struggle,  he  yielded.  Then  began  the  process  of 
deception  :  he  stuffed  Tetsy  under  his  coat  and  kept 
him  there  by  violent  pressure ;  he  skirted  the  lonely 
back  roads  like  a  hunted  criminal,  finally  arriving 
after  dark  at  his  own  house;  he  passed  his  aston- 


260  OFF    LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

ished  housekeeper  upon  the  door-step  without  a 
word,  and  hastened  to  his  laboratory,  where  no  one 
was  ever  permitted  to  enter. 

In  relating  this  incident  later  in  the  evening  to 
Mrs.  Munn,  Martha  had  said  the  doctor  bulged  out 
so  on  one  side  that  she  thought  he  had  some  horrid 
thing  to  dissect. 

After  closing  the  laboratory  door  carefully,  and 
trying  the  lock  twice  to  see  if  it  was  secure,  he  inti 
mated  to  Martha,  while  she  waited  on  him  at  supper, 
that  some  ghostly  relic  held  possession  of  his  pri 
vate  apartment.  "  It  would  be  better,"  he  advised, 
gravely,  "  not  to  go  anywhere  near  the  place  if  you 
feel  nervous." 

"  Never  fear,  doctor,"  said  Martha,  anxiously  ;  "  I 
wouldn't  go  near  that  room  for  anything." 

After  supper  the  mare  was  again  put  into  the 
shafts,  and  the  doctor  sped  hastily  to  the  homestead. 

"  It's  only  a  chance,"  he  muttered,  as  he  drove 
along.  "  All's  fair  in  love  and  war ;  at  least^  the 
poets  say  so,  and  I  suppose  the  poets  are  authority 
on  such  matters.  I'm  ashamed  of  the  thing,  but 
I'm  going  to  see  it  through." 

He  found  the  old  house  in  darkness,  with  the  ex 
ception  of  a  light  in  the  square  hall,  where  Jane  was 


DR.  GOODYEAR   TRIUMPHANT.  26l 

sitting,  her  gray  head  bent  over  her  hands,  bowed 
in  grief  for  the  loss  of  her  pet. 

The  doctor  stepped  up  to  her.  "  Don't  fret,  Jane," 
he  said,  kindly.  "  I  am  sorry  for  you ;  I  saw  by 
the  posters  in  the  village  that  Tetsy  was  lost ;  but 
don't  give  up  like  that;  we'll  find  him  yet." 

"  No,  he's  gone,"  she  replied,  mournfully  ;  "  some 
bad  boys  have  drowned  him.  I  have  sent  all  over 
the  country  to-day ;  if  he  were  alive  some  one 
would  know  it.  I  was  so  fond  of  the  poor  little 
dog;  I  know  people  laughed  at  me,  but  I  haven't 
had  so  many  to  love  in  my  life  that  they  need  have 
envied  me  Tetsy." 

"  Jane,"  said  the  doctor,  cheerfully,  "  something 
tells  me — I  cannot  tell  what  it  is,  perhaps  an  intui 
tion — that  Tetsy  is  alive.  Why  should  any  one 
harm  a  pretty  little  dog  like  that?  " 

Jane  looked  up ;  the  doctor  had  never  called  him 
"a  pretty  little  dog"  before. 

"  I  think  some  bad  boy,  or — man,  is  keeping  him 
concealed  for  the  reward,"  he  continued,  reflectively. 

"  Do  you  really,  doctor?  " 

"  I  most  certainly  do,"  he  replied,  with  convic 
tion.  "  I  shall  make  it  my  most  urgent  business  to 
unearth  the  miscreant  and  restore  your  dog.  You 


262  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

know,  Jane,  I  can  accomplish  much  if  I  set  about 
it,  and  we  most  assuredly  cannot  allow  this  high 
way  robbery  in  Lynnport."  The  doctor  assumed 
a  warlike  air,  which  was  consoling  to  Jane,  bringing 
hopes  of  his  ultimate  success. 

"  O  doctor,  if  you  can  do  this,  if  you  can  find 
Tetsy,  I  shall  be  forever  grateful;  I  shall — •"  She 
paused.  Her  tear-stained  face  and  tottering  head 
dress  looked  pathetic  in  the  dim  candle-light;  her 
loneliness-  touched  the  doctor  deeply — the  great 
silent  house,  the  woman  growing  old  amid  its 
dreariness. 

"  Will  you  give  me  yourself,  Jane,  if  I  find 
Tetsy?  "  The  doctor's  deep  voice  took  on  a  lower 
tone. 

Jane  drew  a  long  breath  ;  gazed  about  the  shadowy 
hall  and  to  the  closed  door  of  the  drawing-room, 
thence  to  the  staircase  with  its  wide  balustrades, 
where  no  more  the  footsteps  she  had  loved  would 
pass. 

"  I  am  very  lonely,  doctor,"  she  said,  in  a  low 
voice ;  "  I  will  do  as  you  wish  if  you  find  Tetsy  ;  I 
cannot  stand  my  life  here  any  longer." 

This  rather  peculiar  consent  did  not  dismay  the 
doctor  in  the  least;  he  was  satisfied;  he  had  won; 


DR.  GOODYEAR    TRIUMPHANT.  263 

he  was  a  conqueror.  But  his  triumph  was  not  all 
unmixed  joy ;  his  conscience  began  to  prick  fiercely, 
but  he  silenced  it  by  mental  reminders  of  ideas 
promulgated  by  the  poets,  and  said : 

"  I  shall  find  him  if  he  is  above-ground;  I  have 
hopes  of  restoring  him  to  you  soon.  I  shall  work 
all  night.  Jane,  you  have  made  me  a  happy  man ; 
you  have — " 

"  You  have  not  found  him  yet,  doctor,"  reminded 
Jane,  with  a  touch  of  her  old  sharpness. 

"  True,"  he  remarked,  slightly  crestfallen. 

The  doctor  went  his  way.  In  order  to  divert  sus 
picion  if  questions  were  asked  in  the  future,  he  drove 
the  greater  part  of  the  n'ght,  knocking  up  sleeping 
households,  much  to  their  disgust,  in  his  zeal  for  his 
cause.  Then,  going  as  far  as  the  four  corners,  which 
he  reached  in  the  gray  light  of  the  early  morning, 
he  put  up  his  horse,  and  slept  the  sleep — hardly  of 
the  just,  as  his  conscience,  being  a  tender  one,  in 
sisted  upon  retaliating  in  sundry  smarts  and  pricks. 

After  the  doctor  left  his  house  the  evening  be 
fore,  Mrs.  Munn  called  to  have  a  chat  with  Martha. 
The  two  women  sat  in  the  pleasant  kitchen  before 
the  bright  fire,  and  talked.  The  tea-pot  was  on  the 
stove,  two  steaming  cups  stood  on  the  table,  and  a 


264  OFF    LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

little  plate  of  caraway-seed  cookies  was  near  at 
hand. 

"  Have  you  heard  anything  more  about  the  doc 
tor's  marryin'  ?  "  asked  Martha,  anxiously. 

"  No,  I  ain't ;  perhaps  I  was  mistaken,  though  I 
think  yet  he'll  marry  sometime.  Why  shouldn't 
he?  He's  got  money,  a  good  home,  and,  land 
knows,  he's  old  enough.  Where  is  he  to-night?" 

"  Out  on  calls,  I  suppose ;  there's  a  deal  of  sickness 
this  fall  in  Lynnport.  Goodness  me!  what's  that?" 

A  low,  muffled  howl  was  heard  coming  from  the 
interior  of  the  house,  the  kitchen  being  in  the  ex 
tension.  The  two  women  started  to  their  feet ;  Mrs. 
Munn  stepped  toward  the  door  that  opened  into  the 
main  part  of  the  house. 

"Oh,  don't  go,  don't  go!"  said  Martha.  "It's 
something  in  the  doctor's  private  room ;  it's  some 
thing  he's  goin'  to  cut  up." 

"  I  shall  go,"  said  Mrs.  Munn.  "  It  sounds  like 
something  human — I  mean  it's  not  an  animal  or 
anything  like  that.  I'm  a- goin'." 

Martha  caught  Mrs.  Munn's  gown  as  another 
more  prolonged  wail  came  echoing  along  the  hall. 

"I'm  afeard  to  go;  I  wouldn't  go  for  anything 
on  earth." 


DR.  GOODYEAR    TRIUMPHANT.  265 

"  I'm  a-goin',' '  reiterated  Mrs.  Munn.  She  stalked 
fearlessly  down  the  long  passageway  to  the  doc 
tor's  room.  As  she  neared  the  door  the  noise  be 
came  louder,  finally  terminating  in  a  shrill  scream, 
finishing  off  in  a  low  muttering  and  grumbling. 

Mrs.  Munn  knelt  down  on  her  knees  and  applied 
her  eye  to  the  keyhole ;  she  did  not  speak  for  a 
moment.  Martha  was  calling  from  the  end  of  the 
hall  to  know  what  she  saw.  Finally  she  rose,  after 
gazing  a  moment  upon  poor  imprisoned  Tetsy,  who 
sat  in  the  arm-chair  by  the  fire,  his  head  raised  in  the 
air,  emitting  howl  after  howl  of  exceeding  mournful- 
ness.  At  the  foot  of  the  chair  was  a  pan  of  water 
and  a  plate  of  dinner.  Mrs.  Munn  did  not  say  any 
thing,  though  she  thought  a  good  deal  as  she  walked 
back  to  Martha. 

"  That'll  fetch  her ;  whoever  would  have  supposed 
the  doctor  was  as  smart  as  that?  I  do  declare,  I 
admire  that  man.  I  wouldn't  say  a  word  about 
this,  not  if  they  wanted  to  burn  me  at  the  stake  the 
way  they  did  all  the  other  Christian  martyrs.  Just 
to  think  of  it! — the  whole  place  aroused  about  that 
dog,  and  he  here  all  the  time,  and  the  doctor  takin' 
him  back  in  the  mornin',  and  Miss  Jane  all  smiles, 
and—" 


266  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

At  this  juncture  she  spoke: 

"  Martha,  it's  only  a  little  dog  as  I  think  has  had 
his  leg  set,  and  he's  lonely." 

They  sat  down  by  the  fire  again ;"  no  more  howls 
were  heard — Tetsy  had  gone  to  sleep.  When  Mrs. 
Munn  left,  as  she  was  putting  on  her  shawl  she 
said,  solemnly : 

"  I  ain't  changed  my  mind  one  mite  about  the  doc 
tor's  marryin' ;  the  feelin'  has  come  over  me  awful 
strong  just  lately,  since  I've  been  here  to-night." 
Martha  sighed.  "  Don't  get  downhearted  about  it ; 
I  think  she's  old;  he  ain't,  at  his  time  o'  life,  goin' 
to  bring  a  silly  young  thing  here.  Good  night, 
Martha." 

"Good  night,  Mrs.  Munn." 

When  Tetsy  was  placed  in  Jane's  arms  by  the  doc 
tor  she  was  too  overcome  even  to  listen  coherently 
to  his  rambling  account  of  midnight  wanderings  and 
hair-breadth  escapes  in  his  search  for  the  lost  one. 
Finally,  after  patting  Tetsy's  curly  head  for  the 
twentieth  time,  she  turned  peremptorily  to  the 
doctor. 

"Well,  where  did  you  find  him?  I'm  sure  I 
don't  understand  a  word  you  are  saying." 

"  I  found  him  tied  to  a  tree  in  a  field ;  some  boys 


DR.  GOODYEAR   TRIUMPHANT.  267 

must  have  stolen  him  and  left  him  there,  no  doubt 
frightened  away  by  some  one." 

"Poor  little  dog,  how  cruel!  Well,  doctor,  you 
have  my  word ;  I  am  not  the  woman  to  go  back  on 
a  promise.  You  have  fulfilled  your  part  of  the  com 
pact ;  I  shall  fulfil  mine." 

"  Jane,  you  are  a  fine  woman ;  I  am  the  happiest 
of  men." 

He  would  have  been  happier  if  it  had  not  been 
for  the  twinges  of  his  rebellious  conscience,  which 
refused  to  be  quieted. 

The  following  winter  Jane  Weston  became  Mrs. 
Ezekiel  Goodyear,  and  went  to  live  in  the  doctor's 
cozy  house  on  the  aristocratic  upper  street  of  the 
town. 

The  manor  was  closed — left  solitary  and  deserted 
in  its  fields  of  snow.  Like  the  lonely  monarch  of  a 
fallen  kingdom,  it  was  neglected  in  its  age,  its  past 
glories  were  forgotten.  The  ghosts  had  it  all  to 
themselves;  silently  at  midnight  they  might  wan 
der  unmolested  up  and  down  the  stately  rooms,  and 
patter  on  the  staircase,  or  join  in  ghostly  revels  in 
the  wide  hall.  No  one  hindered  them ;  they  were 
the  owners  now,  the  sole  possessors,  where  once 
was  life  and  joy. 


268  OFF    LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

The  old  caretaker  in  the  cottage  by  the  gate  made 
entry  at  stated  intervals  into  the  silent  house,  to  see 
that  all  was  safe.  He  did  not  stay  long  at  such 
times;  he  felt  the  cold  and  dreariness,  and  sighed 
as  he  walked  from  room  to  room. 

"  Ah  well !  the  '  old  family  '  is  all  gone ;  they 
were  a  fine  stock."  Then  back  to  his  cozy  fireside 
he  would  go. 

The  night  the  bride  and  groom  returned,  Mrs. 
Munn  went  over  to  help  Martha  in  her  arrange 
ments  for  the  supper  she  intended  preparing  for 
them.  The  two  women  were  in  the  kitchen  busy 
at  their  task.  Martha  was  feeling  dispirited ;  she 
felt  her  stay  at  the  doctor's  uncertain,  and  grieved 
accordingly. 

"Don't  you  fret,"  consoled  Mrs.  Munn;  "don't 
cross  streams  till  you  come  to  them.  I  never  did 
have  patience  with  people  that  wa£  always  up  to 
their  necks  in  a  stream,  when  they  ain't  within  a 
hundred  miles  of  water.  You  just  wait." 

After  supper  Mrs.  Goodyear  came  out  to  the 
kitchen  and  shook  hands  with  Mrs.  Munn,  then  said 
cheerfully  to  Martha: 

"  You  will  stay  with  us — we  could  not  get  along 
without  you." 


DR.  GOODYEAR   TRIUMPHANT.  269 

Martha  burst  into  tears.  "  O  Mrs.  Goodyear," 
she  sobbed,  "  I'll  stay  as  long  as  you  want  me." 

After  she  went  back  to  the  parlor  Mrs.  Munn 
whispered  mysteriously  to  Martha,  as  she  was  wash 
ing  up  the  supper  dishes : 

"  Ain't  I  got  foresight?     Didn't  I  predict  this?  " 

"Yes,  you  have,  Sarah  Munn,"  said  Martha,  ey 
ing  her  admiringly,  as  she  polished  a  delicate  china 
tea-cup,  one  of  the  new  set  the  doctor  had  bought. 
"  I  never  could  quite  understand  why  you  was  so 
positive  about  his  marryin'  that  time  after  you 
peeped  into  his  private  room  through  the  keyhole." 

"Well,  I'm  kinder  gifted  that  way;  things  come 
to  me  sudden.  I  guess  I  inherited  it  from  father's 
side  of  the  house ;  he  had  an  uncle  that  was  a  born 
soothsayer.  People  came  to  him  from  all  round 
the  country;  he  was  a  wonderful  man." 

"You  don't  say  so,  Mrs.  Munn!"  cried  Martha, 
drying  her  hands  on  the  towel  that  hung  on  the 
kitchen  door.  "  Did  he  predict  for  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  did,"  said  Mrs.  Munn,  gloomily,  looking 
into  the  fire.  "  I  didn't  heed  him.  He  said  Munn 
wa'n't  no  account;  was  a  cantankerous  creature.  I 
just  rushed  out  of  his  house,  and  never  spoke  to  him 
again  but  once ;  that  was  at  Munn's  funeral.  He 


270  OFF    LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

come  all  the  way  from  the  islands,  and  what  do  you 
think  he  come  for? — just  to  spite  me.  He  stood  in 
the  door  of  the  house,  and  after  the  service  was  over, 
when  I  was  comin'  out,  he  looked  at  me  sharp,  and 
says,  '  Didn't  I  tell  you  so,  Sarah  ?  '  Then  he  puts 
on  his  hat  and  off  he  walks.  I  was  taken  aback  for 
a  minute,  but  I  just  walks  after  him,  and  I  says, 
'  You  were  mistaken  for  once ;  Munn  was  a  good 
man,  and  I  am  his  sorrowin'  widow.'  ' 

After  this  the  two  women  did  not  speak  for  some 
moments ;  nothing  was  heard  in  the  kitchen  but  the 
crackling  of  the  fire  and  the  clatter  of  dishes.  Then 
Mrs.  Munn  said : 

"Well,  I'm  glad  for  you,  Martha;  and  now  I 
must  be  goin'.  Miss  Kate  will  want  me.  And 
mind  you  are  good  to  Tetsy ;  he's  cross-grained  at 
times,  but  Mrs.  Goodyear  thinks  a  sight  of  him,  and 
I  guess  " — this  more  slowly — "  the  doctor  does  too." 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

LIFE   IN   THE    RECTORY. 

THE  years  passed  peacefully  for  Ruth ;  summers 
and  winters  glided  by  with  little  change  in  her  quiet 
existence.  She  became  the  good  angel  of  the  fish 
ermen  and  their  families,  as  her  husband  was  their 
friend  and  support  in  times  of  want  and  trouble. 
Ruth  was  a  rich  woman,  and  her  hands  were  always 
held  out  to  the  needy,  more  especially  the  children, 
whom,  in  memory  of  her  own  dear  one  and  Joe,  she 
never  refused. 

No  more  little  ones  came  to  the  rectory,  and  the 
great  passion  which  filled  Ruth's  heart  when  her 
arms  first  held  her  child,  rebounded  back  upon  her 
self  with  a  force  that  almost  stunned  her,  when  she 
realized  it  had  no  natural  outlet. 

Arthur  Clayton  had  hoped,  things  would  be  dif 
ferent  in  time :  she  would  grow  to  care  for  him ;  his 
great  love  would  compel  hers  in  return.  He  would 

271 


272  OFF    LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

not  acknowledge  even  to  himself  that  he  was  mis 
taken  ;  that  the  years  had  brought  no  answer,  to  his 
prayer,  no  recompense  to  his  patience.  He  suffered 
the  pangs  of  a  great  grief,  making  no  outcry.  As 
months  drifted  into  years,  and  her  calm,  serene  face 
met  his  daily  without  the  love-light  for  which  he 
waited,  a  grieved  expression  settled  upon  his  strong 
features,  marking  deep  lines  about  his  mouth,  and  a 
few  threads  of  gray  appeared  in  his  dark  hair.  He 
hid  his  sorrow  from  his  wife,  who  did  not  suspect 
the  grief  that  was  changing  him,  making  him  an  old 
man  before  his  time. 

One  afternoon,  after  they  had  been  married  some 
years,  a  hasty  summons  came  to  the  rectory :  a  sick 
man  wished  to  see  the  minister  out  at  the  light. 
Mr.  Clayton  had  just  returned  from  a  round  of 
visits  in  the  farming  district,  and  looked  pale  and 
tired. 

"Who  is  it?"  he  asked. 

"It's  old  Pete  Morrell,"  said  the  messenger; 
"  you  know  him.  He  was  out  fishing  in  that  blow 
the  other  day ;  he  lost  his  sail,  he  was  run  up  on  the 
rocks  on  the  reef,  got  hurt,  and  they  took  him  in 
at  the  light." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Mr.  Clayton,  "  I  will  come." 


.LIFE   IN   THE    RECTORY.  273 

Some  moments  later  he  was  out  on  the  water, 
rowing  rapidly  toward  the  reef  upon  which  the 
lighthouse  had  been  built.  It  was  a  gray  day,  and 
the  wind  was  blowing;  whitecaps  bounded  about 
his  boat,  the  oars  splashed  spray  into  his  face,  the 
gulls  flew  screaming  above  his  head.  He  was  a 
powerful  man,  and  pulled  hard  at  the  oars ;  he  was 
used  to  the  exercise,  and  loved  the  wildness  of  the 
water  on  a  day  like  this.  The  salt  breeze  instilled 
new  life  into  him,  and  he  inhaled  long  breaths  as  his 
muscular  arms  propelled  the  oars. 

Upon  reaching  the  reef  he  found  the  lighthouse- 
keeper  had  gone  to  the  town  for  oil  and  supplies, 
and  his  old  rheumatic  wife  could  not  leave  her  chair. 
The  wounded  man  had  been  made  as  comfortable  as 
possible  under  the  circumstances.  When  Mr.  Clay 
ton  entered  he  found  him  lying  on  the  cot  in  the 
small  spare  room  off  the  living-room,  looking  lonely 
and  dispirited. 

"  I've  been  a-thinkin',  Mr.  Clayton,"  he  said, 
after  the  minister  had  seated  himself,  "  that  I  ain't 
been  a  very  good  man ;  I've  been  intemperate  and 
swearin'.  Since  I've  lain  here,  and  had  nothin'  to 
do  but  think  and  groan  and  look  out  at  the  water, 
and  hear  it  roarin'  round  the  rocks  all  day  and  all 


274  OFF    LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

night,  I've  thought  I  ain't  had  my  anchor  out;  I've 
been  a-driftin' — a-driftin'  out  to  sea." 

"Well,  Pete,"  said  Mr.  Clayton,  "you're  on  the 
right  course  now.  It  has  come  to  you,  my  man, 
late,  but  it  has  come ;  thank  God,  your  shipwreck 
has  been  the  means  of  grace." 

Pete  raised  himself  on  his  cot,  and  leaning  toward 
the  minister  grasped  his  hand. 

"  You  ain't  full  o'  talk  about  what  I  have  been 
— you  spares  me  that ;  you  takes  me  from  now  on. 
I'm  thankful  to  you,  Mr.  Clayton,  and  I  hope  when 
I  get  on  my  legs  again  I'll  be  a  better  man;  per 
haps  I  can  be  a  friend  to  you  sometime." 

"  I  hope  you  will  always  be  my  friend,"  said 
Mr.  Clayton,  heartily. 

If  he  had  known  when  Pete  would  have  redeemed 
that  wish  to  be  his  friend,  would  he  have  sat  there 
so  calmly,  looking  out  upon  the  waters  that  rolled 
by  the  windows  of  the  lighthouse? 

When  the  keeper  came  home  Mr.  Clayton  took 
his  departure.  It  was  growing  dark;  a  storm  was 
gathering,  and  the  heavens  were  full  of  threatening 
clouds.  The  keeper  came  down  to  the  edge  of  the 
rocks  to  see  Mr.  Clayton  off.  His  boat  had  been 
fastened  to  an  iron  staple  embedded  in  the  rock, 


LIFE    IN    THE    RECTORY.  275 

and  was  pulling  and  straining  heavily  at  its  bounds, 
as  the  rough  action  of  the  waves  beat  against  it. 

"There's  a  storm  comin'  up,"  said  the  keeper, 
scanning  the  clouds;  "it'll  be  a  big  blow  they'll 
have  off  the  reef  to-night.  It's  a  hard  pull  up  to 
town,  wind  and  tide  against  you,  Mr.  Clayton." 

Mr.  Clayton  stepped  into  the  boat.  "  I've  pulled 
through  a  rougher  sea  than  this,"  he  said,  smiling. 
"Take  care  of  Pete,  poor  fellow!  I'll  be  down  at 
the  light  soon  again." 

He  pulled  into  the  deep  water  and  was  soon  out 
on  the  tide,  a  small  speck  in  the  waste  of  white- 
capped  waves.  He  found  it  a  heavy  task  pulling 
the  boat  through  the  fierce  current  that  beat  back 
his  strongest  efforts,  and  made  small  headway.  He 
was  half-way  to  the  town  when  a  blinding  rainstorm 
came  upon  him,  a  drenching,  penetrating  rain,  that 
soaked  through  his  clothing.  In  the  teeth  of  the 
cutting  gale  that  accompanied  it,  he  shivered  and 
trembled  with  a  chill  that  entered  into  his  being 
with  an  icy  intensity.  When  he  reached  the  wharf 
it  was  dark ;  the  lights  were  twinkling  in  the  win 
dows  of  the  houses.  An  old  fisherman  who  was 
tying  up  his  boat  to  the  pier  hurried  forward  to 
assist  the  minister,  who  could  scarcely  rise  from  his 


2/6  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

seat  in  the  boat ;  he  felt  cramped  and  cold,  his  teeth 
were  chattering,  and  his  limbs  refused  to  support 
him. 

"  Hey,  Mr.  Clayton,  you're  wet  through ;  it's  a 
bad  night,  and  no  mistake.  Been  down  to  see  Pete 
at  the  light?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  Mr.  Clayton.  He  then  hurried 
away  to  the  rectory,  the  old  man  calling  after  him : 
"Take  something  hot,  Mr.  Clayton,  take  something 
hot;  you're  chilled  through."1 

When  once  ensconced  in  the  light  and  warmth  of 
his  pleasant  home,  the  motive  for  action  removed, 
he  gave  way  to  the  weariness  that  assailed  him, 
sinking  into  a  chair  before  the  fire,  remaining  silent, 
pale,  and  motionless. 

"  You  are  not  well,  Arthur,"  said  Ruth,  as  she  sat 
opposite  him  sewing,  the  candle-light  falling  upon 
her  calm  face. 

"I  am  tired,"  he  said;  "I  shall  be  better  to 
morrow." 

To-morrow,  however,  brought  a  sad  visitant  to 
the  rectory.  The  stalwart  rector,  who  had  not 
known  in  his  hitherto  healthy  existence  what  ill 
ness  meant,  now  succumbed  to  a  fever — a  serious 
fever,  that  ran  its  course  of  weeks,  and  sapped  the 


LIFE   IN   THE    RECTORY.  277 

life  and  strength  from  the  giant  frame.  It  left  but 
a  semblance  of  its  former  greatness  in  the  pale, 
emaciated  man  who  lay  back  languidly  upon  his 
pillow,  hardly  knowing  what  time  of  year  it  was, 
and  too  weak  to  question. 

Ruth  had  been  a  faithful  nurse,  snatching  hours 
of  rest  whenever  it  was  possible,  leaving  little  to 
the  care  of  the  hired  attendant  or  of  Jane,  who  had 
proffered  her  services. 

"  I  shall  watch  by  my  husband,"  she  had  replied, 
firmly,  when  remonstrated  with  by  her  aunt;  "it  is 
my  duty;  I  am  happier  when  I  am  at  work." 

During  the  periods  of  wild  delirium  Ruth  sat  by 
the  bed,  listening  to  strange  words  and  sentences 
that  fell  from  his  lips ;  words  that,  at  first  disjointed 
and  unintelligible,  gradually  assumed  a  meaning  that 
seemed  to  scourge  her  like  a  whip  of  many  thongs, 
and  pierced  her  heart  with  bitter  pangs  of  remorse. 
She  knew  now  the  silent  grief  he  had  endured  dur 
ing  the  years  of  their  married  life;  never  murmur 
ing,  never  reproaching,  going  on  in  the  even  tenor 
of  his  way,  hoping,  trusting,  loving  her  with  a  deep 
and  lasting  affection,  and  leaving  the  result  to  his 
Maker. 

At  times,  when  he  would  look  at  her  intently,  not 


278  OFF    LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

knowing  her,  his  eyes  roving  and  restless,  she  would 
clasp  his  hand,  and  holding  it  tightly  the  tears 
would  drop  upon  it. 

"You  know  me,  Arthur,"  she  would  say,  softly; 
"  I  am  your  wife,  I  am  Ruth." 

"No,  you  are  not  Ruth,"  he  would  cry;  "I  do 
not  know  you.  Ruth  never  looked  like  that;  she 
would  not  care,  she  would  not  cry.  Why  should 
she?  She  told  me  she  never  loved  me.  Ruth  is 
always  calm  and  quiet ;  Ruth  has  no  heart ;  long 
ago  she  told  me  that,  and  I,  fool  that  I  was,  did 
not  believe  her." 

"O  Arthur!"  moaned  poor  Ruth,  well-nigh 
crushed.  She  turned  her  head  aside ;  she  could  no 
longer  look  into  that  bewildered,  entreating  face. 

When  he  returned  to  consciousness,  and  to  the 
prospect  of  health,  it  was  spring  again ;  a  beautiful 
May  was  smiling  on  the  quiet  little  town,  the  fisher 
men  had  gone  out  for  flounders  and  blackfish,  and 
the  waters  of  the  harbor  sparkled  in  the  sunlight. 
Lilac-bushes  were  in  full  blossom  in  the  front  yard 
of  the  rectory ;  the  apple-trees  on  the  south  side  of 
the  house  looked  as  though  pink  clouds  had  de 
scended  from  the  sky,  and  were  resting  on  their 
green  boughs. 


LIFE    IN    THE    RECTORY.  279 

Arthur,  in  peaceful  convalescence,  with  Ruth  by 
his  side,  was  seated  under  the  shade  of  the  lilacs, 
looking  out  to  sea;  now  and  then  he  would  glance 
longingly  toward  the  little  church  on  the  headland. 
He  held  in  his  hand  a  bunch  of  arbutus,  a  gift  from- 
one  of  the  village  children.  The  couple  had  not 
spoken  for  some  time  ;  Ruth  was  sewing  on  a  dainty 
piece  of  linen  for  the  house,  and  Arthur  was  watch 
ing  her  slim  fingers  and  fair  hair,  upon  which  the 
sunshine  fell,  turning  the  brown  .to  gold.  Sud 
denly  she  looked  up  from  her  work,  conscious  of 
his  scrutiny. 

"What  are  you  thinking  of,  Arthur?"  she  said. 

"  I  was  thinking  how  different  it  might  have  been, 
Ruth,  if  God  had  called  me  to  Himself.  You 
would  have  been  free,  and  a  happier  woman ;  now 
you  must  take  up  your  yoke  again  and  struggle 
on." 

She  dropped  her  work  with  a  sharp,  stifled  cry ; 
the  tears  came  into  her  eyes ;  rising,  she  came  and 
stood  before  her  husband,  and  looked  into  his  face. 

"  Arthur,"  she  said,  "  do  not  reproach  me  ;  I  have 
suffered  enough.  I  have  done  wrong;  give  me  one 
more  trial.  I  made  no  effort,  simply  drifted  with 
the  tide,  and  made  no  struggle  against  it — let  it  lead 


28O  OFF    LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

me  where  it  would.  Since  baby  died  I  have  been 
as  one  dead  also.  I  shall  be  a  different  woman,  I 
know  I  shall;  only  trust  me." 

He  looked  sadly  upon  her  sweet,  beseeching  face. 

"  You  cannot  change,  Ruth ;  I  do  not  blame  you. 
I  took  the  risk;  it  was  not  your  fault,  it  was  my 
blindness.  We  have  both  made  a  mistake — the 
common  lot  of  mortals ;  we  must  now  put  forth  our 
noblest  efforts  to  make  the  best  of  life.  God,  in  His 
own  good  time,  will  make  right  our  mistakes ;  if  not 
here,  surely  in  that  better  world." 

It  was  very  still  in  the  rectory  garden  ;  there  were 
no  passers  in  the  street  beyond.  The  apple-blos 
soms  were  softly  fluttering  to  the  ground ;  now  and 
then  a  bird  rustled  to  its  nest  in  the  lilac-bushes. 

Ruth  did  not  reply ;  she  was  looking  up  into  the 
sky,  to  the  banks  of  drifting  clouds  that  were  mov 
ing  lazily  onward. 

"Arthur,"  she  said,  turning  toward  him  sud 
denly,  "  you  do  not  understand.  I  have  not  tried 
to  love  you  as  I  promised  when  we  were  married ;  I 
blame  myself  sorely  for  that,  more  sorely  than  you 
will  ever  know.  When  you  were  ill,  and  it  seemed 
as  though  you  were  going  from  me,  I  felt  how  lonely 
and  empty  my  life  would  be  without  you  ;  I  saw  then 


LIFE   IN   THE    RECTORY.  28 1 

what  I  had  been  doing  through  all  these  years. 
You  will  forgive  me?" 

She  held  out  her  trembling  hands  toward  him. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  forgive,  Ruth,"  he  said,  with 
a  tender,  loving  smile.  "  Let  us  not  talk  about  it 
any  more ;  let  us  begin  all  over  again,  as  the  chil 
dren  say." 

She  put  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder  and,  bending 
over  him,  kissed  him.  It  was  the  first  time  she  had 
ever  kissed  him  voluntarily ;  his  pale  face  flushed 
and  the  bunch  of  arbutus  dropped  from  his  hand. 

One  afternoon,  some  days  after  this  conversation, 
Ruth  and  her  husband  were  walking  slowly  along 
the  grassy  street  that  led  to  Dr.  Goodyear's  cot 
tage.  Arthur  could  take  short  walks  now,  and  was 
rejoicing  in  his  renewed  strength.  Dandelions  were 
blooming  thickly  along  the  paths,  and  tiny  blue 
grass-flowers  blew  in  the  wind  at  their  feet  as  they 
passed  on.  When  nearing  the  cottage  they  saw 
Jane  and  the  doctor  standing  side  by  side  in  a  cor 
ner  of  the  garden;  at  the'r  feet  was  a  wooden  box. 
The  doctor  had  a  spade  in  his  hand,  his  coat  was 
hanging  over  the  limb  of  a  tree  near  by,  and  a  pile 
of  newly  turned  earth  stood  near  a  hole  he  was  dig 
ging  in  the  ground.  On  the  kitchen  door-step,  watch- 


282  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

ing  them  solemnly,  were  Mrs.  Munn  and  Martha. 
As  Arthur  and  Ruth  entered  the  gate  the  doctor 
dropped  his  spade,  and  he  and  Jane  came  forward 
to  meet  them. 

Ruth  saw  tear-stains  on  Jane's  face. 

"Tetsy  is  dead,"  she  said;  "he  died  last  night" 
Then  she  turned  to  the  doctor.  "  You  have  not 
dug  the  hole  nearly  deep  enough." 

"  The  box  is  too  large — I  told  you  so  this  morn 
ing,"  he  replied,  wiping  the  perspiration  from  his 
brow. 

"  I  will  not  have  a  cramped  little  box,"  she  said, 
shortly ;  "  Tetsy  always  liked  plenty  of  room. 
Don't  you  remember  how  he  liked  a  whole  chair 
to  himself?  " 

"  I  am  sorry  for  you,  Aunt  Jane,"  said  Ruth. 
"  Poor  little  Tetsy!  he  was  very  old,  though." 

"  Well,  what  if  he  was?  I  did  not  want  to  lose 
him." 

The  doctor  looked  up  with  a  comical  expression 
at  Arthur,  who  turned  his  face  aside  and  smiled ; 
then,  returning  to  his  task,  plodded  stolidly  at  the 
hole  he  was  digging.  The  box  was  buried  and  the 
earth  returned  to  its  place,  then  patted  down 
smoothly  by  the  doctor's  spade. 


LIFE    IN   THE    RECTORY.  283 

"Now,  Ezekiel,"  said  Jane,  "I  want  this  spot 
marked."  He  looked  inquiringly  at  her.  "  I  want," 
she  continued,  "  one  of  your  rose-bushes  placed 
here — one  of  your  '  Cloth  of  Gold.' ' 

"  What ! "  he  gasped,  "  one  of  my  '  Cloth  of  Gold  ' 
bushes,  the  finest  I  have?  Jane,  do  not  be  unrea 
sonable." 

"  I  want  it,"  she  said. 

"  Would  not  some  annuals  do  ?  I  have  plenty  of 
seeds  " — this  with  alacrity.  "  How  about  bachelor's- 
buttons  or — or — widow's-tears?  "  He  paused. 

Jane  looked  sharply  at  him.  Could  he  be  laugh 
ing  at  her?  No,  his  expression  was  too  solemn  for 
amusement. 

"  I  do  not  wish  annuals  ;  I  wish  one  of  your  '  Cloth 
of  Gold '  bushes.  Don't  you  suppose  I  value  Tetsy 
more  than  one  of  your  rose-bushes?" 

The  doctor  sighed,  then  started  perceptibly ;  re 
morse  had  taken  possession  of  him.  If  it  had  not 
been  for  Tetsy  he  would  never  have  called  Jane 
Weston  his  wife ;  here  he  was  begrudging  her  a 
rose-bush  on  his  grave,  miserable  man  that  he  was ! 
If  Jane  knew  of  his  deception  what  would  she  say  ? 
Would  she  leave  him  and  go  back  to  the  manor? 
She  looked  capable  of  anything,  standing  there 


284  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

watching  him  determinedly.  Yes,  she  would  leave 
him ;  he  deserved  to  be  forsaken ;  he  was  a  coward 
and  a  deceiver.  He  started  on  a  run  for  his  rose- 
garden. 

"Would  you  not  like  two  bushes,  Jane?"  he 
called,  as  he  hurried  away ;  "  I  can  spare  any  num 
ber  you  like." 

Jane  glanced  at  him  in  surprise.  "  One  will  do," 
she  said. 

Presently  the  doctor  returned  and  planted  the 
bush,  the  finest  one  he  had  in  his  collection  of  fine 
roses.  He  patted  the  earth,  feeling  a  pleasure  in 
doing  the  best  he  could  for  the  lowly  instrument  of 
his  present  happiness. 

"He  was  a  fine  dog,"  he  said,  with  a  burst  of 
eloquence,  forgetting  the  numerous  times  Tetsy  had 
clung  to  his  trousers  in  days  past  and  pursued  him 
at  breakneck  speed  down  the  avenue  of  elms  at  the 
manor.  "  A  fine  dog,  a  most  intelligent  animal ; 
perhaps  a  little  excitable  at  times,  but  that  was  no 
doubt  due  to  his  sagacity." 

"  I  was  very  fond  of  him,"  said  Jane,  brokenly, 
turning  away;  "I  shall  miss  him  greatly."  What 
ever  Tetsy's  faults  of  temper,  his  mistress  was  sin 
cere  in  her  devotion. 


LIFE    IN    THE    RECTORY.  285 

Mrs.  Munn  and  Martha  came  strolling  across  the 
grass  to  see  the  grave,  and  the  rest  waited  for  them. 

"  It  looks  nice,  doctor,"  said  Mrs.  Munn.  "You 
thought  a  sight  of  Tetsy,  didn't  you  ?  "  She  looked 
sharply  at  the  doctor,  who  was  putting  on  his  coat 
and  did  not  notice  her  glance.  "  I  mind  so  well 
the  night  he  was  lost,"  she  continued.  "  I  was 
here,  and  me  and  Martha  was  alone  in  the  kitchen ; 
we  thought  there  was  a  spirit  in  the  house,  such  a 
fearful  and  blood-curdlin'  noise  as  came  from  your 
office;  but  it  wasn't  nothin'  after  all;  only  it  gave 
us  such  a  fright." 

The  doctor  glanced  at  Mrs.  Munn.  What  did  the 
woman  suspect?  he  wondered.  Something,  he  was 
sure ;  he  never  had  liked  Mrs.  Munn's  sharpness. 

Jane  had  moved  toward  the  house;  Ruth  and 
Arthur  followed;  they  did  not  catch  the  conclusion 
of  the  conversation. 

"  What  kind  of  a  noise  was  it?  "  said  the  doctor, 
innocently. 

"  It  was  a  howlin'  and  kind  of  low  grumblin'." 

"  Oh,  that  was  probably  some  acids  that  I  have 
in  my  laboratory.  They  explode  at  times — in  fact, 
quite  frequently ;  you  must  never  be  alarmed  at 
anything  like  that  in  a  doctor's  house." 


286  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

"  I  wasn't  alarmed,"  said  Mrs.  Munn,  quietly;  "  I 
was  only  thinkin'  it  happened  the  night  Tetsy  was 
lost."  She  stooped  and  picked  up  a  grass-flower 
from  the  ground.  "These  grass-flowers  is  real 
pretty,  doctor,"  she  said,  looking  him  squarely  in 
the  face. 

The  doctor  buttoned  his  coat  with  an  alacrity 
unusual  to  him,  and  did  not  reply ;  then  he  walked 
quickly  toward  the  house.  When  he  reached  the 
porch  he  paused  and  looked  back  toward  the  two 
women,  who  still  stood  by  the  newly  transplanted 
rose-bush. 

"  Mrs.  Munn  is  a  suspicious,  meddling  creature," 
he  muttered  ;  "  that  woman  knows  a  little  too  much 
— for  a  woman."  Then  he  went  into  the  house  and 
shut  the  door  with  a  bang. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

THE   FACE    AT   THE    WINDOW. 

A  BETTER  condition  of  feeling  had  arisen  be 
tween  Arthur  and  Ruth,  a  confidence  and  faith  in 
each  other  that  changed -much  of  the  weary  endur 
ance  practised  on  either  side  to  a  peaceful  acquies 
cence.  They  understood  each  other  as  they  never 
had  before ;  understood  the  struggles,  the  heart 
aches,  the  useless  repinings  and  vain  regrets. 

Many  a  time  at  the  dusk  of  evening,  when  the 
shadows  were  creeping  stealthily  about  the  pleasant 
rectory  parlor,  the  minister  and  his  wife  sat  beside 
each  other,  hand  in  hand,  talking  about  what  had 
once  been  a  sealed  book  between  them,  an  impas 
sable  gulf  across  which  their  feet  dared  not  pass. 
They  would  speak  of  their  doubts  and  fears,  and 
would  start  refreshed  from  this  peaceful  converse. 
It  was  as  though  the  winds  from  distant  fields  of 
rest  were  sweeping  across  their  souls,  opening  up 

287 


288  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

the  dark  places,  lifting  the  curtains  that  hung 
straight  and  impenetrable  before  Ruth's  bruised 
spirit.  Bruised  nerves  are  difficult  of  treatment — 
far  better  annihilation ;  it  takes  years  and  patience 
to  effect  a  cure. 

A  strange  and  unexpected  event  took  place  about 
this  time.  Arthur  was  well  and  strong  once  more 
— at  least  as  strong  as  he  would  ever  be  again  after 
such  a  severe  strain  on  the  system  as  his  recent  ill 
ness. 

He  was  paying  pastoral  calls  on  his  scattered 
parishioners  in  the  farming  district,  and  had  been 
absent  three  days.  Ruth  was  alone  in  the  rectory. 
It  was  midsummer,  and  the  corn  was  high  in  the 
fields ;  a  great  heat  had  settled  upon  the  town.  In 
the  harbor  the  water  looked  motionless  and  oily ; 
no  breeze  stirred  the  limp  sails  or  rustled  the  reeds 
near  the  water's  edge.  The  song  of  the  birds  was 
stilled,  only  feeble  pipings  coming  from  the  distant 
woods ;  the  dust  lay  thick  upon  the  country  roads, 
rising  in  clouds  when  the  horses,  with  steaming 
sides,  plodded  wearily  over  them. 

Ruth  had  been  sitting  with  old  granny,  who  was 
bedridden  from  rheumatism  and  had  become  Ruth's 
charge.  She  was  a  patient  old  creature,  lying  all 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW.       289 

day  on  her  neat  bed,  happy  and  contented,  thank 
ful  to  God  for  having  sent  her  such  a  good  friend 
as  Mrs.  Clayton,  who  kept  her  from  becoming  a 
public  care.  Ruth  was  sitting  beside  her  this  warm 
afternoon ;  she  had  been  reading  aloud,  when  sud 
denly,  looking  up  from  her  book,  she  noticed  the 
room  had  become  darkened,  and  that  a  rustling,  as 
of  increasing  wind,  was  heard  in  the  branches  of  the 
pines  near  the  house.  She  went  to  the  door  and 
looked  out :  the  waters  of  the  bay  were  rising  and 
beating  against  the  wooden  piers  of  the  wharf;  be 
yond  the  harbor,  outside  the  bar,  long  lines  of  white 
breakers  were  rolling  in  toward  the  reef;  the  sky 
was  obscured  .by  masses  of  dull,  black-hued  clouds 
with  crimson-tinted  edges.  She  shaded  her  eyes 
with  her  hand  a  moment,  looking  seaward ;  then, 
coming  back  into  the  room,  she  said : 

"  Granny,  there  is  a  storm  coming ;  I  must  hurry 
home;  I  think  there  is  time  to  reach  the  rectory 
before  the  rain  falls." 

She  hastened  away,  and  had  almost  reached  the 
end  of  the  narrow  lane  where  the  fishing-town 
joined  the  business  street  of  Lynnport,  when  she 
was  accosted  by  a  rough,  unkempt-looking  man, 
who  stepped  suddenly  from  a  sailors'  boarding- 


290  OFF    LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

house  in  the  vicinity,  and  barred  her  further  pro 
gress. 

"  Pardon,  ma'am,"  he  said,  removing  his  battered 
cap;  "are  you  Mrs.  Clayton,  the  minister's  wife?" 

Ruth  started ;  she  was  taken  by  surprise  for  an 
instant,  but  she  was  not  naturally  a  timid  woman, 
and  had  become  familiar  with  the  sailors  and  their 
characteristics. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  ;  "  what  do  you  want?  " 

The  man  hesitated,  fumbling  nervously  with  his 
hat.  He  had  a  sick,  hopeless  look,  as  though  the 
world  had  dealt  hardly  with  him,  and  he  had  been 
worsted  in  the  struggle. 

"I  am  sick  and  poor,"  he  said,  doggedly;  "I 
thought  perhaps — "  He  hesitated.  "  I  heard  you 
was  kind  to  us  sailor  men.  It's  hard  for  me  to 
ask;  I've  always  worked,  but  I  got  the  fever  out  in 
China,  and  I  ain't  been  any  good  since,  or  likely  to 
be." 

"  Have  you  been  long  in  Lynnport?"  said  Ruth, 
studying  him  carefully. 

"  No,  not  in  some  years ;  I  came  back  after  I  got 
out  o'  hospital — worked  my  way  back  when  I  could 
hardly  crawl." 

"What  captain  did  you  sail  under?"  said  Ruth. 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW.       2QI 

At  that  instant  a  distant  but  menacing  peal  of  thun 
der  rumbled  across  the  sky. 

"  I  went  out  with  Captain  Jack  Hathaway,  master  of 
the  '  Bonny  Kate,'  "  he  said,  looking  away  from  her. 

Ruth  did  not  reply  instantly ;  then  she  said,  a 
tremor  in  her  voice : 

"  I  knew  of  him;  I  will  help  you."  Taking  out 
her  purse  she  poured  its  contents  into  his  hand. 
"  I  have  an  interest  in  all  the  seamen  that  sail  from 
Lynnport;  I  shall  not  forget  you." 

He  thanked  her,  and  she  hurried  away  from  him 
up  the  steep  hill. 

The  storm  was  drawing  nearer  slowly,  the  wind 
having  partially  died  away.  She  stood  upon  the 
hill  an  instant,  looking  back  at  the  man,  who  was 
leaning  wearily  against  the  side  of  the  lodging- 
house  in  an  attitude  of  hopeless  dejection. 

"Where  have  I  seen  him?"  she  mused.  "Ah 
yes,  I  remember:  it  was  the  day  Jack  took  me  to 
see  the  ship ;  this  man  was  in  the  cabin  cleaning 
the  glass.  It  seems  so  long  ago — like  another  life." 
She  stood  some  moments  thinking  intently.  "  It 
was  so  bright  and  sunny  that  day ;  Jack  showed  me 
all  about  the  ship,  and  looked  so  proud  and  happy, 
and — there — "  She  clenched  her  hands,  and  bit 


292  OFF    LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

her  lips  till  the  blood  started.  "  I  will  not  think  of 
those  days,"  she  said,  fiercely;  "  I  dare  not."  She 
spoke  aloud ;  her  voice  sounded  strange  and  harsh. 

She  went  into  the  rectory  and  sat  down  by  the 
window  of  the  cozy  study  that  faced  the  sea,  to 
watch  the  oncoming  of  the  storm.  It  was  late  in 
the  afternoon,  and  the  darkness  of  the  coming  even 
ing,  coupled  with  the  threatening  heavens,  lent  an 
aspect  of  gloom  to  all  objects.  Ruth  sat  very  still, 
her  hands  clasped  in  her  lap;  the  house  was  quiet — 
the  ticking  of  the  clock  on  the  landing  of  the  stairs 
could  be  distinctly  heard.  Though  surrounded  with 
the  familiar  objects  of  her  husband's  work — his  desk, 
papers,  opened  sermon-case,  and  his  coat  across  a 
chair — the  sense  of  his  presence  did  not  come  to 
her.  She  was  thinking  of  her  sailor  lover;  of  the 
time  when  she  was  a  girl  and  used  to  meet  him  in 
the  fields  around  Lynnport,  when  he  gathered 
flowers  for  her.  Once  he  secured  an  oriole's  nest ; 
she  had  it  still  among  the  treasures  she  had  not 
looked  at  for  many  years,  yet  jealously  guarded 
from  destruction. 

The  storm  increased,  the  room  darkened ;  she  sat 
quietly,  unheeding  the  outward  gloom,  bidding  the 
specters  come  forth,  setting  the  pieces  on  the  board 


THE    FACE    AT    THE    WINDOW.  293 

before  her,  and  commanding  them  to  go  through 
their  allotted  parts.  Presently  the  maid  came  in 
with  the  candles. 

"  Take  them  away,"  said  Ruth ;  "  I  wish  to  watch 
the  storm." 

It  was  now  quite  late ;  the  storm,  which  had  been 
slow  in  gathering,  was  a  giant  in  its  accumulated 
force,  and  the  peals  rumbled  with  reverberating 
crashes  across  the  sky,  followed  almost  irnmediately 
by  flashes  of  blinding  lightning.  She  drew  back 
from  the  window,  the  light  blinded  her;  the  power 
and  might  of  the  works  of  the  Creator  manifest  be 
fore  her  alarmed  her,  and  she  put  her  hands  before 
her  face.  When  she  removed  them  she  saw,  pressed 
against  the  window,  the  features  of  a  haggard  coun 
tenance  peering  into  the  room,  with  eyes  fixed  upon 
her,  its  unkempt  shock  of  hair  flying  in  wild  gusts 
of  wind. 

She  darted  from  the  room  and  down  the  hall  to 
the  kitchen. 

"Quick,  quick!"  she  called,  as  she  opened  the 
kitchen  door  and  stood  on  the  threshold  of  the 
lighted  interior ;  "  som.e  one  is  hiding  about  the 
house ;  I  saw  him  at  the  window  of  the  study. 
Come  with  me." 


294  OFF    LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

The  two  maids  followed  her  tremblingly ;  upon 
opening  the  front  door  they  found  the  drenched  fig 
ure  of  a  man  huddled  upon  the  stone  steps.  Ruth 
leaned  over  him ;  the  wind  blew  her  hair  wildly 
about  her  face,  and  the  rain  dashed  in  driving  gusts 
into  the  hall,  causing  the  candle  held  by  one  of  the 
women  to  flutter  tremulously  in  the  draft. 

The  man  lifted  his  face ;  it  was  the  sailor  she  had 
helped  that  afternoon  in  the  lane  of  the  fishing- 
town.  He  staggered  to  his  feet,  and  she  bade  him 
enter ;  the  water  dropped  from  his  tattered  garments 
upon  the  hall  floor;  he  looked  white  and  hopeless. 

"Take  him  to  the  kitchen,"  she  said  to  the 
women ;  "  let  him  dry  his  garments,  then  send  him 
to  me  in  the  study." 

An  hour  later  the  man  stood  before  her  in  the 
study;  the  candles  were  lighted.  The  crash  of  the 
storm  had  lessened ;  the  peals  were  less  vibrant, 
coming  at  longer  intervals,  though  the  lightning 
still  played  bewildering  pranks  upon  the  window- 
curtains. 

"  Tell  me  what  brought  you  here,"  said  Ruth, 
•  severely ;  "  what  motive  had  you  in  following  and 
spying  upon  me  ?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you,  ma'am ;  I  tried  to  this  afternoon, 


THE    FACE   AT   THE    WINDOW.  295 

but  I  couldn't ;  you  was  kind  to  me,  and  I  couldn't 
talk  of  it."  He  paused. 

"  Go  on,"  said  Ruth,  calmly. 

"  Well,  I  was  sent  back  from  hospital  to  Lynn- 
port  by  Captain  Hathaway,  who  was  a  good  friend 
to  me  after  I  got  the  fever.  I  told  you  this  after 
noon  I  caught  the  fever  in  China.  In  the  bed  next 
to  mine  was  a  young  feller  from  Lynnport  who  had 
broke  his  leg  a-fallin'  from  a  mast,  and  he  talked 
about  the  old  place  a'most  all  the  time.  He  was 
only  a  boy,  and  it  was  his  first  trip ;  he  was  home 
sick  for  his  mother.  This  happened  about  eight 
months  ago.  One  day  Captain  Jack  he  come  in  to 
see  me,  and  the  sick  boy  was  a-goin'  on,  and  he  got 
a-talkin'  about  folks,  and  he  spoke  about  the  Lorri- 
mers,  and  about  Miss  Ruth  bein'  so  good  to  the  sail 
ors  and  all  the  seafarin'  folks.  (He  didn't  call  you 
Mrs.  Clayton,  and  the  Captain  thought  you  was  still 
Miss  Lorrimer.  I  didn't  know,  either;  I  hadn't  been 
in  Lynnport  in  many  years.)  The  Captain  he  just 
sat  there  with  his  hand  over  his  eyes,  and  listened 
while  that  sick  boy  rattled  on.  When  he  got  up 
and  went  out  o'  the  ward  he  was  white,  and  he  stag 
gered  some.  The  next  day  he  come  to  me,  and  he 
says :  '  I  made  a  mistake  once,  my  man ;  I'm  sorry 


296  OFF   LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

for  it.  I  want  you  to  do  somethin'  for  me ;  I  want 
you,  when  you  are  better,  to  go  to  Lynnport,  find 
Miss  Ruth  Lorrimer,  and  give  her  this  letter.'  "  As 
the  man  finished  speaking  he  took  from  his  pocket 
a  letter  and  held  it  in  his  hand.  "  When  I  got 
here,"  he  continued  ("I  came  aboard  a  coaster;  I 
was  nearly  spent — all  gone  like) — that  was  some 
days  ago — when  I  could,  I  found  out  about  you ;  I 
found  out  you — was — was  married.  I  didn't  know 
whether  to  see  you  then  or  not,  as  the — the — letter 
was  directed  to  Miss  Ruth  Lorrimer,  not  Mrs.  Arthur 
Clayton.  The  Captain  said  it  was  for  Miss  Ruth 
Lorrimer." 

Ruth  trembled  and  swayed  slightly  toward  the 
man,  the  candle-light  shining  upon  her  face,  which 
looked  pale  as  snow  in  its  uncertain  gleam ;  then  she 
held  out  her  hand  for  the  letter. 

"  Captain  Hathaway,"  she  said,  as  her  fingers 
closed  upon  the  letter — "  is  he  well?  " 

"  He  is  well,"  the  man  answered,  looking  closely 
at  her. 

"  Has  he  been  long  in  China?  " 

"  He  has  returned  to  Boston  but  twice  since  he 
left  Lynnport.  He  hasn't  sailed  his  own  ship  for 
some  years,  though  he  still  owns  the  brig;  he  is 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW.       297 

captain  now  of  the  company's  wharves  at  Hong- 
Kong." 

"  Did — did — he  send  me  any  message  besides  this 
letter?  "  Ruth,  tried  to  look  calmly  upon  the  man  ; 
her  blue  eyes,  gleaming  almost  black  in  intensity  in 
her  white  face,  belied  her  outward  composure. 

"  He  said,"  answered  the  man,  slowly,  "  that  the 
letter  would  explain  everything,  and  that  you  would 
understand.  I  was  to  return  on  the  first  outward- 
bound  vessel  with  the  answer;  I  was  to  tell  him  how 
you  looked,  and  all  about  the  old  place,  and  about 
the  garden  at  the  homestead." 

Ruth  did  not  appear  to  hear  him ;  she  glanced 
absently  past  him.  She  held  the  letter  an  instant 
in  her  hand,  so  tightly  the  paper  was  crushed  in  her 
grasp,  then  raised  it  close  to  her  face,  reading  the 
inscription  carefully  and  earnestly,  word  for  word, 
letter  for  letter:  "Miss  Ruth  Lorrimer,  Lynnport 
Harbor."  There  was  no  Ruth  Lorrimer  now;  there 
had  been  living  once  a  girl  of  that  name ;  now  she 
was  dead — dead  long  ago.  This  letter  was  not  for 
her;  she  had  no  right  to  read  its  contents;  she  was 
a  wife,  and  belonged  to  her  husband ;  an  old  lover 
had  no  rights. 

The  man  waited  respectfully ;  he  understood  it  all, 


298  OFF   LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

feeling  a  keen  sympathy  for  the  sad-faced  woman 
before  him.  A  vision  rose  before  his  face  of  the 
eager,  hopeful  look  of  the  man  who  gave  him  the 
letter  to  deliver,  saying,  "  I  made  a  mistake  once, 
my  man  ;  I'm  sorry  for  it."  He  could  see  it  all :  the 
wharf  at  Hong-Kong,  the  trading-ships,  the  stal 
wart  man  bending  earnestly  toward  him  with  the 
bronzed,  bearded  face  and  the  dash  of  gray  in  his 
hair.  He  waited ;  the  roll  of  thunder  had  grown 
into  a  sullen,  retreating  murmur,  the  clock  on  the 
stairs  ticked  loudly. 

Ruth  held  the  letter  toward  the  flickering  candle ; 
her  hand  trembled,  its  form  throwing  a  wavering 
shadow  upon  the  low  ceiling  of  the  study. 

The  man  made  a  hasty  movement,  then  drew 
back ;  he  had  no  right  to  interfere,  he  was  only  an 
onlooker. 

She  placed  the  letter  in  the  flame,  watched  it 
slowly  burn  to  ashes,  its  charred  remains  fluttering 
down  among  her  husband's  papers  upon  his  writ 
ing-table. 

"  When  you  return  to  Hong-Kong,"  she  said, 
"  tell  Captain  Hathaway  there  is  no  Ruth  Lorrimer; 
you  could  not  deliver  your  letter.  Tell  him  that 
Mrs.  Arthur  Clayton  hopes  he  is  well  and  happy, 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW.       299 

as  she  is  well  and — and — happy."  Her  last  words 
came  with  a  short  gasp,  and  she  stepped  outside  the 
light  thrown  from  the  candle. 

The  man  bowed  and  walked  toward  the  door; 
then  he  hesitated. 

"  Why  do  you  wait?  "  she  said. 

"  Is  there  no  further  message  ?  "  He  looked  wist 
ful  and  undecided. 

"  There  is  no  further  message,"  she  replied. 

He  went  out,  closing  the  door  softly  behind  him. 

Ruth  stood  where  he  had  left  her,  looking  straight 
before  her  to  where  the  little  heap  of  brown  ashes 
rested  on  her  husband's  papers  on  the  table.  When 
the  outer  door  closed,  and  she  heard  the  retreating 
steps  of  the  man  on  the  walk  leading  down  the  hill 
side,  she  went  upstairs  and  returned  with  a  box  in 
her  hand,  a  box  of  sandalwood  inlaid  with  pearl,  a 
possession  bequeathed  by  her  young  mother. 

The  night  had  grown  chilly  after  the  storm ;  a 
strong  breeze  blew  in  from  the  sea,  rustled  the  cur 
tains  at  the  windows,  and  sent  sweet  odors  into  the 
room  from  the  vines  and  flowers  without. 

She  ordered  a  wood-fire  upon  the  hearth,  and 
sat  down  before  it  with  the  box  upon  her  lap,  then 
opened  it,  looking  sadly  at  its  contents.  There  was 


3OO  OFF    LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

very  little  in  it;  to  a  casual  observer  what  it  con 
tained  would  have  appeared  worthless.  She  sat 
very  still  for  some  time,  the  tears  standing  thick  in 
her  eyes. 

"  It  is  right,"  she  said;  "  I  must  not  keep  them 
any  longer.  I  am  glad  Jack  has  not  thrown  his  life 
away;  I  shall  not  grieve  further  for  that."  Sud 
denly  she  closed  the  box  with  a  quick  motion,  and 
stood  up,  holding  it  in  her  hand,  then,  placing  it 
upon  the  table,  looked  expectantly  toward  the  door ; 
she  had  heard  her  husband's  step  upon  the  walk. 
He  entered  the  house  and  stood  in  the  hall  without. 
She  rose,  opened  the  study  door,  and  with  a  smile 
met  him  upon  the  threshold. 

"  You  escaped  the  storm,  did  you  not?  "  she  said, 
quietly,  observing  his  dry  garments. 

"Yes,  I  took  shelter  in  a  farm-house."  He  went 
to  the  blaze  and  stood  before  it,  then  caught  sight 
of  the  box  upon  the  table. 

She  took  it  in  her  hand  and  went  to  him. 

"  Arthur,"  she  said,  "  something  strange  has  hap 
pened  to-day;  I  wish  to  tell  you  about  it."  Then, 
in  a  gentle,  quiet  way,  and  without  great  emotion, 
she  told  him  all.  "  This  box  contains  a  few  trea 
sures  ;  I  do  not  know  why  I  have  kept  them — they 


THE    FACE    AT   THE   WINDOW.  30! 

have  no  value  in  price,  and  no  right  to  any  value  in 
sentiment.  I  have  brought  them  here  to-night  to 
destroy  them."  She  opened  the  box,  and  held  up 
a  bunch  of  dry,  withered  daisies,  the  crumbling 
petals  dropping  upon  her  dress,  thence  to  the  floor. 
An  oriole's  nest  lay  beneath  the  daisies,  and  a  packet 
of  letters,  not  many  and  not  long  ones.  One  by 
one  she  took  her  treasures  and  laid  them  upon  the 
blaze,  and  watched  them  vanish  into  ashes;  then 
she  gazed  sadly  into  the  empty  box. 

"  I  could  not  have  done  this  a  year  ago,  Arthur," 
she  said ;  "  I  should  have  deemed  it  sacrilege ;  now 
I  have  strength  to  feel  it  is  right  and  best;  I  am 
glad  I  have  heard  from  him  and  know  that  he  is 
well." 

Arthur  drew  her  to  him  and  kissed  her.  "  My 
wife,"  he  said,  "my  Ruth!" 

After  this  news  Ruth  went  forth  refreshed  to  her 
daily  cares,  for  cares  she  had  many.  The  Lady 
Bountiful  of  the  parish,  the  good  angel  of  the  fish 
ermen,  her  time  was  fully  occupied  and  her  fortune 
was  used  to  much  practical  good  among  her  poor 
friends.  In  the  cold  of  the  bitter  winter  nights  no 
cottage  was  left  without  its  fire,  no  sufferer  without 
comfort ;  she  was  idolized  by  the  people,  as  her  hus- 


302  ,        OFF   LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

band  was  respected  and  revered.  The  knowledge 
of  Jack's  condition  was  like  a  beacon-light  in  the 
darkness ;  he  was  well,  he  was  occupied ;  he  was 
not  the  wreck  she  had  sometimes  thought  he  might 
become :  she  was  grateful  for  that. 

Mrs.  Munn  met  her  one  afternoon  returning  from 
the  death-bed  of  a  crippled  child.  As  she  climbed 
the  hilly  street  toward  the  rectory  she  was  thinking 
of  little  Joe  ;  thinking  tender,  loving  thoughts  of  her 
"comforter,"  her  first  friend  after  her  trouble. 

"For  the  land's  sake!"  cried  Mrs.  Munn,  barring 
her  progress  by  stepping  directly  in  front  of  her  in 
the  narrow  way;  "you  look  beat  out;  you're  as 
pale  as  a  sheet.  Why  do  you  have  to  be  doctor 
and  undertaker,  friend  and  supporter,  and  goodness 
knows  what,  all  at  once?  They  say  the  back  is 
fitted  for  the  burden ;  I  never  did  nor  won't  believe 
that.  You  can  overburden  a  good-natured  back ; 
I'll  always  contend  that.  You  need  rest,  Mrs. 
Clayton." 

"  I  am  a  little  tired  to-day,  Mrs.  Munn,  though 
I  would  not  be  contented  to  be  idle;  I  have  much 
work  to  do,  work  that  has  been  given  me  to  do." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  work  has  been  given  us  all,  but 
I  believe  in  shuttin'  your  eyes  once  in  a  while  when 


THE    FACE    AT   THE   WINDOV*.  303 

the  work  comes  pilin'  on — kind  of  lookin'  off  the 
other  way,  innocent  like;  I  used  to  do  that  with 
Munn  when  he  come  in  with  fifty  things  to  do  all 
at  once.  Try  it,  Mrs.  Clayton;  try  shuttin'  your 
eyes  to  some  things;  you  can't  be  takin'  care  of 
the  whole  fishin'-town." 

Ruth  laughed  and  passed  on. 

Mrs.  Munn  stood  looking  after  her.  "  Talk  about 
angels,"  she  muttered;  "I  don't  want  to  see  any 
better  angel  than  Miss  Ruth  when  I  get  to  heaven, 
if — if — I  ever  do,"  she  finished,  slowly.  "  She's  one 
of  the  best  women  that  ever  lived,  and  I  believe  it's 
all  on  account  of  her  trouble.  They  say  trouble  is 
the  makin'  of  some  people,  but  it's  a  mighty  hard 
teacher."  She  went  her  way,  solemnly  shaking  her 
head,  her  gaunt,  angular  figure  held  as  straight  as  a 
mast. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

THE   DONATION   PARTY. 

A  VAST  idea  had  been  promulgated  in  Lynnport 
by  the  united  efforts  of  the  ladies  of  Mr.  Clayton's 
parish.  This  important  movement  was  none  other 
than  to  tender  a  great  entertainment  to  the  rector 
and  his  wife — an  entertainment  worthy  of  the  ladies 
and  the  recipients.  It  was  late  in  the  fall  when  this 
idea  was  first  advanced,  so  necessarily  the  affair  must 
bear  somewhat  the  guise  of  a  Thanksgiving  festivity. 
Meeting  after  meeting  was  held  at  Dr.  Goodyear's 
cottage,  at  which  Mrs.  Burton  presided,  as  possess 
ing  the  most  executive  ability.  It  was  finally  de 
cided  that  the  entire  congregation  should  unite  in 
presenting  a  costly  present  of  silver  to  Mrs.  Clay 
ton,  and  that  the  parish,  rich  and  poor,  old  and 
young,  should  meet  at  the  rectory  on  the  evening 
of  the  2d  of  December,  for  a  jollification,  when  the 
gift  would  be  tendered.  This  latter  conclusion 

304 


THE    DONATION    PARTY.  305 

reached,  it  was  necessary  to  acquaint  Ruth  with 
the  decision,  all  except  the  presentation. 

She  entered  heartily  into  the  preparations.  The 
large  parlors  of  the  rectory  were  thrown  open,  and 
the  kitchen,  a  rambling  extension,  had  the  floor 
sanded  for  any  games  in  which  the  younger  mem 
bers  might  desire  to  indulge.  Garlands  of  greens 
were  brought  from  the  woods  to  festoon  the  walls, 
and  were  draped  above  the  doors  and  windows. 

The  only  member  of  the  parish  who  held  some 
what  aloof  from  the  mighty  event  which  was  caus 
ing  a  ferment  in  quiet  Lynnport  was  Dr.  Goodyear. 
He  listened  when  consulted  in  regard  to  details, 
and  made  mighty  efforts  to  suggest  novel  features 
for  the  success  of  the  enterprise ;  but  a  close  observer 
could  have  detected  his  labored  interest,  and  in  this 
case  that  close  observer  was  his  wife.  She  suspected 
something  was  amiss,  and  watched  him  closely,  her 
keen  eyes  on  the  alert  for  any  suspicious  movements 
on  his  part. 

It  was  the  last  day  of  November,  a  gray,  cold 
day,  and  the  clouds  were  hanging  low  over  the 
water.  The  ridge  of  hills  toward  the  north  was 
covered  with  a  thick  mist ;  flocks  of  ducks  and  wild 
geese  screamed  harshly  as  they  flew  toward  the 


306  OFF    LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

south,  their  discordant  notes  echoing  through  the  still 
atmosphere;  a  few  dead  leaves  that  still  remained 
upon  the  ground  whirled  in  fitful  gusts  of  wind. 

There  had  been  a  ring  around  the  moon  the  night 
before.  Jim  Benton  had  told  his  cronies  as  they 
lounged  upon  the  wharf,  their  jackets  buttoned  up 
to  their  necks,  that  "  there  was  goin'  to  be  a  storm ; 
and  I  tell  yer,  mates,  a  big  one  this  time.  I  see  a 
sun-dog  in  the  sky  night  afore  last,  and  I  ain't  one 
not  to  take  a  reef  in  my  sail  and  make  all  things 
shipshape  when  there's  a  sun-dog  around." 

"You're  always  a-prophesyin',  Jim,"  said  one  of 
the  men,  shaking  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe;  "  I  ain't 
seen  no  sun-dog." 

"  I  have,"  said  Jim,  kicking  an  old  lobster-crate 
out  of  his  way,  "  and  I  predicts  a  hurricane." 

The  rest  of  the  men  stood  looking  solemnly  over 
the  gray,  turbulent  waters,  and  said  nothing. 

At  this  instant  Dr.  Goodyear  joined  the  men ;  he 
glanced  searchingly  around  an  instant,  as  though 
some  one  were  following  him,  then  said : 

"  Have  any  of  you  a  dog  to  sell — a  terrier,  not 
large,  yellow  coat,  curly,  pretty  stout,  and  moder 
ately  good  disposition?" 

The  men  turned  all  in  a  row  and  stood  facing  him 


THE    DONATION    PARTY.  307 

in  surprise;  Jim  scratched  his  head  meditatingly ; 
the  man  with  the  pipe  had  taken  it  from  his  mouth, 
and  was  holding  it  upside  down,  the  fire  and  ashes 
dropping  unheeded  upon  the  wharf. 

"  You  want  a  dog,  doctor?  "  finally  said  Jim. 

"  That's  what  I  have  been  asking  for,"  said  the 
doctor,  calmly. 

"Well,"  said  Jim,  slowly,  "  I  knows  of  a  dog — a 
nice  little  feller  too — down  in  the  fishin'-town  at 
the  house  next  to  granny's,  only  he's  a  pup  and 
tears  things ;  he  tore  all  the  clothes  off  the  line  and 
chewed  some  on  'em.  He'll  get  over  that,  though ; 
he's  good  breed  and  yellow  color  and  curly,  just  the 
way  you  want  him." 

The  doctor's  face  fell  at  the  description  of  the  tear 
ing  propensities  of  the  pup,  but  suddenly  brightened, 
as  though  strengthened  by  some  inner  resolution. 

"  Go  down  to  the  town,  Jim;  I'll  wait  here.  Get 
the  dog,  bring  him  to  me;  if  I  like  him  I'll  pay 
what  they  ask." 

"  Aye,"  said  Jim,  as  he  rolled  away  in  true  sailor 
fashion.  As  he  stepped  off  the  wharf  to  the  level 
of  the  street  he  called  back :  "  You'll  have  to  make 
allowances  for  his  bein'  a  pup." 

After  he  had  gone  the  doctor  sat  down  on  an 


308  OFF    LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

overturned  bait-barrel  and  waited ;  the  men  turned 
to  their  silent  scrutiny  of  the  water. 

The  pup  proved  to  be  satisfactory,  though  pos 
sessed  of  rather  too  much  animal  spirits,  evincing 
such  in  wild  dashes  at  the  doctor's  coat-tails,  which 
failing  to  dislodge  he  fell  over  on  his  back,  legs  in 
the  air. 

"  He'll  do,"  said  the  doctor,  catching  him  up. 
He  held  his  handkerchief  over  the  dog's  head,  and 
buttoning  his  coat  over  the  struggling  body  prepared 
to  depart  with  his  possession,  the  men  watching  him 
gravely. 

"  Is  it  for  yourself,  doctor?  "  said  Jim. 

"  No,  it's  for  Mrs.  Goodyear,"  answered  the  doc 
tor,  shortly,  pushing  the  puppy's  head  down,  as, 
covered  with  the  handkerchief,  he  was  endeavoring 
to  peer  forth  from  the  collar  of  the  doctor's  great 
coat.  He  went  slowly  up  the  hill ;  when  he  neared 
the  top  the  men  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  the 
dog  suddenly  drop  from  the 'doctor's  grasp,  and 
begin  a  wild  career,  with  much  shrill  barking,  down 
the  steep  incline,  the  doctor  in  hot  pursuit.  The 
dog  was  caught  midway  on  the  descent,  and  pres 
ently  the  doctor  entered  his  garden  gate  with  his 
yelping  companion. 


THE   DONATION   PARTY.  309 

His  wife  saw  him  from  her  bedroom  window; 
saw,  too,  what  he  had  in  his  arms.  She  met  him 
at  the  front  door. 

"  I  won't  have  him,"  she  said;  "take  him  right 
back." 

"  O  Jane,"  said  the  doctor,  appealingly,  as  he 
held  the  puppy  out  to  her,  "  I've  had  such  a  run; 
I  want  to  tell  you  something." 

"  I  should  think  you  had ;  I  saw  you ;  at  your 
time  of  life  making  such  a  spectacle  of  yourself, 
chasing  dogs  all  round  town." 

"  I  didn't  chase  him  all  round  town,"  said  the 
doctor,  meekly ;  "  I  only  chased  him  on  the  hill  a 
short  distance." 

"Well,  it's  all  the  same;  I  won't  have  him." 

"  Jane,  come  into  the  study ;  I  want  to  tell  you 
something;  after  that,  if  you  like,  we'll  send  the 
puppy  back ;  I  bought  him  because  I  thought  you 
missed  Tetsy  and  would  like  him."  The  doctor 
looked  grave.  Jane  silently  followed  him ;  some-  ' 
thing  in  his  voice  made  her  quiet.  After  entering 
his  office  he  pulled  forward  an  easy-chair,  bidding 
her  be  seated ;  then,  seating  himself  opposite  her, 
holding  the  puppy  in  his  lap,  he  told  the  story  of 
his  deception,  the  means  he  had  used  to  win  her, 


310  OFF   LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

and  his  ultimate  condition  of  tortured  conscience. 
He  dared  not  look  at  her  as  he  proceeded,  keeping 
his  eyes  averted,  surreptitiously  wiping  his  perspir 
ing  forehead  at  intervals.  How  would  she  take  it? 
Would  she  go  back  to  the  manor,  and  leave  him 
alone  in  his  old  age?  These  were  the  thoughts 
that  darted  through  his  mind. 

After  he  concluded,  silence  reigned  for  a  few 
moments  in  the  small  room.  Jane  looked  at  the 
doctor,  whose  head  was  bowed  over  the  puppy, 
that  had  fallen  asleep ;  then  her  gaze  wandered  to 
the  window  and  the  gray  autumnal  landscape  with 
out. 

"  Doctor,"  she  said — her  voice  sounded  low  and 
gentle — "  I  cannot  say  but  this  might  have  made  a 
difference  had  I  known  it  before  we  were  married ; 
now — "  She  paused.  "  Ezekiel,  we  are  very  happy 
in  our  old  age ;  we  were  both  lonely ;  perhaps,  after 
all,  Tetsy  was  a  blessing  in  disguise."  She  laid 
her  hand  on  the  doctor's  gray  head.  "  I'll  keep 
the  puppy;  we'll  call  him  Tetsy  No.  2." 

Tetsy  No.  2  looked  up  at  this  announcement  with 
a  most  idiotic  puppy-grin  upon  his  face  ;  Jane  smiled, 
took  him  in  her  arms,  and  peace  was  restored  in  the 
cottage.  The  doctor,  with  beaming  countenance, 


THE    DONATION    PARTY.  311 

hummed  at  intervals,  during  the  rest  of  the  day, 
strains  of  old  melodies  heard  in  his  boyhood.  Jane 
listened  from  her  room  above,  and  watched  Tetsy 
No.  2  demolish  a  crocheted  tidy  without  interfer 
ence.  She  was  quiet  and  pensive ;  her  usually  high- 
pitched  voice  was  subdued ;  there  were  tears  in  her 
eyes  as  she  stood  a  long  while  watching  the  sea  from 
the  dormer-window  of  her  room. 

"  Ezekiel  is  a  good  man,"  she  murmured  once — 
"  a  very  good  man." 

It  was  the  night  of  the  great  party  to  be  given 
at  the  rectory.  The  weather  had  grown  cold ;  the 
air  was  full  of  fine  snow,  that,  hardly  perceptible,  cut 
the  pedestrians'  faces  like  tiny  needles,  and  the  wind 
blew  fiercely  from  the  northeast.  All  day  long 
great  breakers  on  the  outer  reef  boomed  sullenly, 
dashing  white  spray  into  the  air  as  they  rushed 
swirling  toward  the  rocks.  The  tide  was  high  in 
the  harbor,  reaching  the  tops  of  the  wharves;  the 
fishing-fleet  lay  at  anchor,  no  vessel  venturing  forth. 
The  gulls  screamed  as  they  swooped  above  the  waves, 
their  light  flight  carried  forward  on  the  wind. 

As  night  drew  near  the  windows  in  the  spacious 
rectory  shone  with  the  brilliant  gleam  thrown  from 
many  candles. 


312  OFF   LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

Jim  Benton  looked  into  the  dark  sky  as  he  waited 
outside  the  door  a  moment  before  entering,  and  said 
to  himself: 

"  There's  goin'  to  be  a  fearful  storm — I  see  the 
sun-dog  again  last  night." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Clayton  stood  in  the  large  parlor 
to  receive  their  guests.  Ruth  wore  a  white  dress 
and  some  flowers  in  her  hair,  that  soft  brown  hair 
that  showed  now  many  a  thread  of  silver;  she 
looked  bright  and  smiling  as  the  candle-light  fell 
upon  her.  She  felt  happy  to-night,  happier  than 
she  had  felt  for  ten  years,  for  it  was  ten  years  since 
her  lover  had  sailed  away  and  left  her  desolate. 

The  collation  was  spread  in  the  kitchen ;  after  that 
came  the  presentation  of  the  silver  pitcher.  Then  the 
games  commenced — old-fashioned,  romping  games, 
taken  part  in  by  nearly  all  the  guests.  Even  Mrs. 
Munn  was  persuaded  to  take  a  hand  in  a  game  of 
forfeits ;  when  she  was  obliged  to  kiss  Jim  Benton 
much  amusement  was  manifested  by  the  company. 
To  every  one's  amazement  she  marched  up  to  Jim 
where  he  sat  blushing  in  a  corner.  "  I  guess  I  ain't 
goin'  to  spoil  sport  if  I  know  it,"  she  said;  "I've 
done  many  a  hard  thing  in  my  life — I  guess  I  can  do 
this,"  and  she  imprinted  a  loud  kiss  on  his  cheek. 


THE   DONATION   PARTY.  313 

He  rose  as  though  he  had  been  struck,  and,  putting 
his  hand  to  his  cheek,  looked  at  her;  then,  thinking 
he  must  also  do  his  part,  he  stepped  close  to  her 
and  kissed  her  in  return. 

"That  ain't  the  game,  Jim,"  she  said,  marching 
off;  "we're  playin'  forfeits." 

"  Oh,"  he  said,  sitting  down,  "  I  didn't  know  how 
you  played  the  game." 

Later  in  the  evening,  when  the  games  were  be 
ginning  to  flag,  and  some  of  the  older  members 
had  taken  their  departure,  a  strange,  unaccountable 
depression  seized  Ruth.  It  fell  upon  her  as  a 
cloud  falls  upon  a  sunny  landscape,  shutting  out 
all  color  and  light,  the  heavy  folds  of  its  dark 
curtain  obscuring  life  and  cheer.  Perhaps,  like 
many  sensitive  organizations,  she  was  unconsciously 
influenced  by  the  rising  storm,  that  evinced  itself  in 
heavy  gusts  of  wind  that  rattled  the  casements,  and 
in  driving  sleet  that  dashed  at  intervals  against  the 
window-panes.  She  went  to  the  window  and,  part 
ing  the  curtain,  pressed  her  face  against  the  glass 
and  looked  into  the  night.  A  mantle  of  snow  lay 
upon  the  ground  and  was  rapidly  piling  in  drifts 
against  the  north  side  of  the  house.  Arthur  joined 
her  at  the  window  and  looked  over  her  shoulder. 


314  OFF    LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

"  It  is  a  wild  night,"  he  said,  peering  out  into  the 
darkness. 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  in  a  low  voice;  "God  pity 
those  at  sea!" 

He  looked  at  her  earnestly.  "  You  look  tired, 
Ruth,"  he  said;  "the  evening  has  been  a  wearing 
one ;  yet  it  has  also  been  a  great  pleasure  to  us  both 
to  feel  that  we  possess  the  good- will  of  our  people." 

"  Yes,  it  has  been  pleasant ;  I  do  not  know  why 
I  feel  this  depression  stealing  over  me.  Look  which 
way  I  will  I  see  nothing  but  blackness,  storms,  and 
shipwreck,  one  face  looking  up  at  me  from  the 
waves ;  and  it — is  white,  and — it — it — is  Jack's  face, 
and  he  is  dead."  She  looked  wistfully  before  her, 
holding  her  hand  outstretched,  then  dropped  it 
wearily  by  her  side.  "  Can  it  be,  Arthur,"  she 
said,  looking  into  his  face  earnestly,  "  that  some 
strong  influence  exists  between  two  who  in  this 
world  have  been  much  to  each  other,  that  by  some 
mysterious  power  one  feels  the  other's  danger?" 

"  I  cannot  tell,"  he  said — "perhaps;  the  workings 
of  a  mind  are  incomprehensible." 

She  turned  to  the  room  again ;  her  guests  were 
departing ;  one  by  one  they  passed  out  into  the 
storm  of  the  winter's  night 


THE    DONATION    PARTY.  315 

As  Jim  wound  his  woolen  muffler  about  his  throat 
he  said  to  Mr.  Clayton : 

"  I  predicted  this  storm,  Mr.  Clayton  ;  I  ain't  often 
mistaken ;  it's  goin'  to  be  the  worst  this  'ere  coast 
has  seen  in  many  a  year." 

"  I  hope  not,  Jim,  I  hope  not,"  said  Mr.  Clayton, 
as  he  held  the  door  with  his  hand,  forcibly  prevent 
ing  it  from  shutting  in  his  visitor's  face,  or  the  wind 
tearing  it  from  its  fastenings. 

"It's  a  tearer,"  replied  Jim;  "reminds  me  of 
when  I  was  mate  o' — " 

"  Come  on,  Jim  Benton,"  called  Mrs.  Munn,  from 
the  gate;  "do  you  want  to  freeze  out  the  whole 
house?  I  can't  wait  all  night;  ain't  you  goin'  to 
see  me  home?  " 

Jim  did  not  stay  to  recount  reminiscences;  he 
hurried  after  the  tall  muffled  figure  that  waited 
near,  the  gate. 

After  all  had  gone,  and  the  house  was  quiet, 
Ruth  and  her  husband  sat  down  before  the  fire  in 
his  cozy  study.  He  had  put  on  his  slippers  and  was 
resting  in  his  easy-chair,  his  head  leaning  against  its 
cushioned  back.  She  sat  facing  him,  watching  the 
crackling  logs,  seeing  in  the  ruddy  flame  pictures  of 
other  days;  pictures  of  the  garden  at  the  manor,  of 


316  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

her  girlhood's  stately  home,  the  avenue  of  elms,  and 
the  garret  with  its  wealth  of  discarded  treasures. 

"  Arthur,"  she  said,  "  I  love  the  sea ;  its  salt  breath 
is  life  and  rest ;  yet  on  such  a  night  as  this  I  tremble 
with  fear ;  there  is  awful  power  in  its  might.  Think 
of  the  poor  men  on  the  ocean  to-night."  She 
paused  and  turned  her  gaze  from  the  glowing  fire. 
At  this  instant  a  terrific  gust  tore  the  shutter  from 
its  hold,  the  sleet  and  snow  dashed  against  the 
glass,  and  the  wind  in  the  chimney  blew  the  ashes  and 
sparks  out  into  the  room.  She  covered  her  face  with 
her  hands,  then,  dropping  them  in  her  lap,  said  softly  : 

"  Arthur,  let  us  pray  for  those  at  sea ;  let  us 
pray  for  one  who,  no  doubt,  as  we  all  do,  needs 
many  prayers;  he  is  on  the  deep  to-night."  She 
spoke  solemnly,  with  strong  conviction. 

They  knelt  down  before  the  fire  and  prayed  for 
those  in  peril  on  the  deep;  then  Ruth  rose,  and  in 
a  trembling  voice  sang  the  hymn  for  the  sailors — the 
hymn  that  little  Joe  had  loved ;  that  she  sang  to 
him  so  often  during  those  weary  months  of  suffer 
ing  before  he  died : 

"  Oh,  save  the  sailor  man, 
As,  on  the  ocean  wide, 
With  God  beside  him  at  the  helm, 
He  braves  the  fiercest  tide. 


THE    DONATION    PARTY.  317 

"  He  brings  the  wanderer  home 

Beneath  the  sheltered  hill, 
Who  trusteth  in  His  might  to  save; 
He  bids  the  wave  be  still." 

She  sighed  after  she  finished  the  last  line,  and 
walked  restlessly  to  the  window. 

"  The  storm  is  increasing,"  she  said,  looking  back 
into  the  room.  "  I  can  scarcely  see  the  light,  the 
snow  is  blinding;  listen  to  the  surf,  is  it  not  fear 
ful?"  Suddenly  she  paused,  holding  her  finger 
raised;  then  darting  back  into  the  room,  her  head 
inclined  forward,  she  grasped  her  husband's  arm. 

"Arthur,"  she  cried,  "listen!  do  you  not  hear 
the  guns,  the  guns  from  the  outer  reef? — a  wreck 
off  Lynnport  light!" 

He  rose  from  his  chair  and  listened  intently  an 
instant.  "  It  is  a  wreck,"  he  said,  hoarsely — "  a 
wreck  on  the  outer  reef." 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

THE     GREAT     STORM. 

MR.  CLAYTON  hurried  to  the  window  and  threw 
it  open.  A  terrific  gust  of  cold  air  rushed  into  the 
room,  a  whirling  mass  of  snow  and  sleet  accompany 
ing  it,  and  the  draft  caused  a  dull  rumbling  in  the 
chimney.  He  leaned  out  into  the  night. 

"  I  am  right,"  he  cried;  "  it  is  a  wreck — a  wreck 
on  the  outer  reef.  God  have  mercy  on  their  souls!  " 

Ruth  clasped  her  hands ;  her  face  had  grown  very 
white. 

"What  shall  we  do?"  she  said,  brokenly. 

"Do?"  he  replied,  throwing  off  his  house-coat. 
"  Bring  me  my  storm-coat,  quick ;  I  must  go  to  the 
beach  and  work  while  there  is  time." 

She  brought  him  his  heavy  winter  coat,  helped 
him  put  it  on,  then  stood  before  him  and  said : 

"  Arthur,  I  am  going  with  you ;  do  not  attempt 
to  persuade  me  to  remain  here — it  would  be  useless. 
I  am  going,  I  am  determined." 

318 


THE    GREAT    STORM.  319 

"Come,"  he  said;  "perhaps  it  would  be  better 
so." 

At  that  instant,  above  the  deep  booming  of  the 
surf  and  the  howling  of  the  gale,  was  heard  the 
muffled  sound  of  guns.  Ruth  placed  her  hands 
over  her  ears  and  shuddered. 

"Hurry,  hurry!"  she  said;  "let  us  go  to  the 
beach." 

The  wildest  confusion  reigned  throughout  the 
little  town.  Against  the  black  background  of  the 
dark,  tempestuous  night,  hurrying  figures  bearing 
aloft  burning  fagots  were  hastening  to  the  beach. 
Women  in  groups,  with  shawls  pinned  over  their 
heads,  were  calling  and  weeping,  as  they  struggled 
against  the  wind  on  the  steep  road  down  the  hill 
side  that  led  to  the  lower  street,  thence  a  mile  along 
the  shore  road,  past  the  Lorrimer  manor,  to  the  sea. 

The  scene  on  the  sands  was  bewildering  and 
pathetic — pathetic  in  the  sight  of  puny  strength 
against  tremendous  power.  Men  ran  hither  and 
thither  with  hoarse  shouts,  scarcely  hearing  one 
another's  voices  above  the  mighty  roar  of  the  waters. 
The  life-boats  had  been  dragged  by  the  hardy  fish 
ermen  along  the  beach,  from  the  sheltered  cove  near 
the  harbor's  mouth.  They  were  now  upon  the  shore, 


320  OFF    LYXXPORT    LIGHT. 

just  outside  the  range  of  foaming  breakers  that 
dashed  far  up  the  sands,  a  solid  wall  of  glistening 
water. 

The  ship  was  hard  and  fast  on  the  outer  reef. 
The  gleam  from  the  lighthouse  revealed  occasional 
hazy  glimpses  of  her  masts,  as  they  careened  back 
ward  and  forward  from  the  pounding  she  was  re 
ceiving  on  the  sharp-edged  rocks.  The  seas  were 
breaking  over  the  stranded  vessel,  throwing  spray 
and  foam  to  the  topmast,  which  loomed  heaven 
ward,  like  a  mighty  ghost  of  the  sea  rising  from 
the  dark  surface  of  the  waves. 

When  Ruth  and  her  husband  reached  the  shore 
they  were  nearly  breathless  battling  with  the  icy  gale. 
They  stood  a  moment  together  on  the  sands,  beyond 
the  reach  of  the  heaving  breakers.  Mr.  Clayton's 
keen  eyes  wandered  from  the  life-boats  to  the  wreck. 

"  Jim  Benton,"  he  called,  as  he  saw  Jim  hurrying 
by  with  a  lighted  fagot,  "bring -the  light  here." 

"  Aye,  aye,"  said  Jim,  as  he  came  up  to  them. 
"  She's  lost,  Mr.  Clayton ;  it's  no  use ;  the  sea  has 
washed  them  off  the  riggin'  before  this ;  there  ain't 
a  man  aboard  that  'ere  craft." 

Mr.  Clayton  did  not  reply  immediately ;  the  light 
thrown  from  the  glowing  fagot  fell  across  his  strong, 


THE    GREAT    STORM.  321 

resolute  face.  He  glanced  over  the  waste  of  heav 
ing,  surging  waters,  then  said: 

"  Never  give  up,  Jim.  There  are  men  aboard 
that  vessel — who  are  firing  the  guns?  There  may 
be  one  man,  there  may  be  more ;  we  must  make  an 
effort  for  their  lives." 

"  It  ain't  no  use,"  muttered  Jim,  turning  away. 

Mr.  Clayton  left  Ruth,  and,  joining  a  group  of 
fishermen  who  stood  near  by  in  tarpaulins  and  oil 
skin  caps,  said: 

"  My  men,  let  us  make  a  trial  for  their  lives. 
Those  poor  fellows  should  not  drown  before  our 
eyes  without  a  stroke  from  us." 

"  It's  no  use,  Mr.  Clayton,"  said  the  spokesman 
of  the  group ;  "  yer  couldn't  launch  the  boats — they'd 
swamp.  Me  and  my  mates  has  talked  it  over;  we 
think  the  best  way  is  just  to  wait  right  here.  When 
the  vessel  goes  to  pieces  perhaps  some  o'  the  crew 
will  come  in  on  the  spars ;  yer  see  the  tide  sets  this 
way." 

"  It  is  a  shame,"  said  Mr.  Clayton,  "  it  is  cruel,  it 
is  unmanly,  to  stand  with  folded  hands.  I  will  go 
to  the  rescue;  who  will  join  me?  I  say  the  boats 
can  be  launched." 

Silence  followed  this  speech;  nothing  answered 


322  OFF   LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

him  but  the  wild  shrieking  of  the  wind,  the  crash 
ing  and  booming  of  the  surf. 

"Am  I  to  go  alone?"  he  said,  sadly,  looking 
around  upon  the  weather-beaten  faces. 

"  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  certain  death,"  said  the  spokes 
man.  "If  there  was  a  chance  I'd  go — I'd  risk  it; 
but  I've  got  Lizzie  and  the  children,  to  think  on." 

The  group  of  fisherwomen  now  joined  the  men. 

"  Don't  you  leave  us!"  they  wailed.  Their  cold, 
toil-worn  hands  were  holding  their,  shawls  about 
their  heads;  their  garments  were  flying  wildly  in 
the  gale.  Each  one  stepped  beside  her  husband. 
"  Remember  the  children!"  they  cried. 

"We  can't  go,  Mr.  Clayton,"  they  said,  respect 
fully. 

"  Will  no  one  go  with  me  ?  "  he  repeated,  loudly ; 
"  no  one  ?  "  He  waited. 

Suddenly  a  hoarse  voice  answered : 

"  I'll  go,  Mr.  Clayton,  and  my  three  boys ;  it 
sha'n't  never  be  said  that  old  Pete  Morrell  and  his 
boys  was  skeered  o'  death,  or  wouldn't  lend  a  helpin' 
hand  to  a  feller-sufferer." 

At  these  words  Ruth  joined  her  husband  and 
laid  her  hand  upon  his  arm. 

"  Arthur,"  she  said,  "  Arthur,  think  of  me." 


THE    GREAT   STORM.  323 

He  turned  and  caught  her  in  his  arms. 

"Ruth,"  he  said,  hoarsely,  "God  is  calling  me. 
I  hear  His  voice  in  the  wind  and  the  waves ;  I  dare 
not  refuse  to  listen ;  I  must  go ;  I  must  obey  His 
will." 

She  released  herself  from  his  grasp  (the  fishermen 
had  turned  away),  and  looked  into  her  husband's 
face.  What  was  this  light  upon  it,  this  light  she 
had  never  seen,  had  been  too.  blind,  too  obstinate  to 
see  ;  this  gleam  of  the  spiritual  endeavoring  to  break 
through  the  trammels  of  the  mortal,  this  triumph  of 
soul  over  body  ?  At  once  the  curtain  parted  and 
she  saw  within  her  own  heart :  she  loved  her  hus 
band  ;  had  loved  him  for  a  long  while,  and  had 
not  known  it.  That  other  image  had  faded,  faded, 
until  its  misty  outline  looked  spectral  and  unreal. 
Yes,  she  loved  him,  and  God  would  punish  her  by 
taking  him  from  her  (she  stretched  out  her  arms  to 
him).  All  through  these  years  she  had  lived  a  mis 
take,  and  cheated  herself  by  a  vain  delusion ;  in  the 
terrors  of  the  storm  came  her  punishment. 

"Arthur,  do  not  leave  me!"  she  said;  "I  can 
not  live  without  you  ;  I  know  myself  at  last — do 
not  leave  me! " 

He  turned   to  her  a  happy  face.     "  Ruth,"  he 


324  OFF    LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

murmured,  "my  Ruth!"  His  voice  shook.  "  If  it 
is  His  will,  I  shall  return  to  you ;  if  not,  then,  my 
own  wife,  I  have  found  you — I  am  content."  He 
turned  from  her  quickly.  "  Launch  the  boats,"  he 
cried.  "  Come,  Pete,  to  the  oars ;  I  shall  take  the 
helm." 

Amid  the  wild  roaring  of  that  fearful  winter's 
storm  the  life-boat  was  launched ;  twice  they  ven 
tured,  twice  were  driven  back.  As  the  men  waited 
to  recover  strength  for  another  effort,  a  man  came 
running  across  the  beach  from  the  headland;  he 
was  from  the  lighthouse.  The  bridge  between  the 
reef  and  the  mainland  had  been  carried  away  by 
the  force  of  the  rising  waters ;  he  had  rowed  across 
the  narrow  inlet,  at  the  risk  of  his  life,  to  tell  the 
news.  The  vessel  was  the  "  Bonny  Kate,"  from 
Hong-Kong,  bound  east — the  light-keeper  knew 
her  well.  Owing  to  the  force  of  the  hurricane  the 
ship  had  been  driven  from  her  course.  Some  men 
were  in  the  rigging,  but  many  had  been  washed 
overboard;  the  sea  was  going  clear  over  the  ship, 
carrying  everything  before  it.  In  the  cross-trees 
was  one  man.  The  sails  were  gone,  and  the  creak 
ing  of  the  timbers  could  be  heard  in  the  lighthouse 
tower  above  the  gale. 


THE    GREAT    STORM.  325 

"Who  commands  her?"  asked  the  minister. 

"The  keeper  didn't  know,"  the  man  said; 
"  guessed  it  must  be  Captain  Hathaway — least 
ways  he'd  heard  he  had  been  running  her  the  last 
few  trips." 

Ruth  sprang  forward ;  the  water  crept  about  her 
feet ;  she  did  not  heed  it,  did  not  know  she  stood 
ankle-deep  in  the  foaming  surf.  "You  shall  not 
go,  Arthur,"  she  screamed;  "you  shall  not;  you 
are  mine."  She  clung  to  him,  her  small  hands 
holding  him  like  a  vise ;  her  hood  had  blown  back, 
her  hair  was  waving  in  the  wind. 

"  Be  silent,  Ruth;  I  shall  do  my  duty." 

"  Not  for  him,  not  for  him ;  I  cannot  bear  it ; 
your  life  shall  not  be  given  for  his.  Spare  me  this, 
my  Heavenly  Father,  spare  me  this!"  Ruth  fell 
upon  her  knees ;  the  waters  curled  about  her ;  she 
did  not  heed  their  treacherous  lapping  nor  feel  their 
cold  embrace — in  fact,  was  semi-conscious  till  the 
kindly  hands  of  the  fisherwomen  dragged  her  far 
ther  up  the  beach.  There  she  crouched,  a  small, 
trembling  heap,  her  head  bowed  upon  her  knees, 
the  sleet  falling  upon  her  brown  hair,  and  the  wind 
howling  about  her.  The  fisherwomen  fell  upon 
their  knees  around  her;  they  were  praying.  She 


326  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

could  hear  their  voices  rising  and  falling;  she  could 
not  join  them,  could  not  pray ;  her  lips  were  parched, 
her  mind  was  clouded. 

"The  boat  has  gone!"  the  women  said,  as  they 
rose  from  their  knees.  One  brawny  matron,  point 
ing  seaward,  cried :  "  They  have  safely  passed  the 
outer  line  of  breakers;  they  are  nearing  the  ship." 

Ruth  raised  her  head,  yet  could  distinguish  noth 
ing  save  impenetrable  darkness  outside  the  line  of 
red  light  cast  from  the  fagots. 

"  Gone,"  she  murmured,"  gone  !  "  She  held  her 
hands  tightly  clasped.  "  Gone,  and  I  have  just 
found  him!  My  eyes  have  only  opened  to  the 
happiness  that  has  hovered  by  my  side  all  these 
years,  that  I  have  forcibly  held  back  with  deter 
mined  hands."  She  realized  that  she  had  been  cling 
ing  to,  loving  a  shadow,  a  phantom  of  her  brain,  an 
image  clothed  in  the  trappings  of  her  imagination ; 
the  real  substance  had  been  refused  for  a  dream. 
The  dream  had  vanished;  the  reality,  with  its  threat 
ened  aspect  of  impending  doom,  was  all  that  was 
left  her.  In  the  storm  the  Creator  made  plain  her 
blind  mistake ;  in  the  storm  the  true  love  of  her  life 
had  come  to  her. 

"They    are     returning,     they    are     returning!" 


THE    GREAT   STORM.  327 

Hoarse  shouts  were  heard  from  the  groups  of  men 
as  they  hurried  back  and  forth  upon  the  shore  with 
their  flickering  lights.  The  women  rushed  forward  ; 
they  could  scarcely  stand  upon  their  feet.  The 
wind  had  risen  in  its  fury;  the  white  tops  of  the 
waves  appeared  to  rise  to  meet  the  blackness  of  the 
sky.  Suddenly  upon  the  crest  of  the  waves  rose  the 
life-boat,  like  a  feather  at  the  mercy  of  the  storm. 

The  fishermen  congregated  in  one  group,  to  throw 
as  much  light  as  possible  from  their  united  torches 
upon  the  surf.  The  boat  struggled  bravely ;  she 
held  three  men  besides  the  life-savers  who  had  gone 
to  the  rescue.  At  the  helm  sat  Arthur  Clayton, 
his  strong  hand  guiding  the  boat,  his  lips  moving  in 
prayer  to  the  God  of  storms.  What  was  that  follow 
ing  them,  that  white-crested  mass  which  advanced, 
moving  solidly  with  the  swiftly  running  tide  ?  On, 
on  it  came,  seized  the  life-boat  in  its  strength, 
twisted  it,  turned  it  as  a  straw  in  its  giant  force, 
played  with  it  as  though  in  sport,  then  with  a  swirl 
and  a  roar  rushed  on,  and  the  boat  was  seen  no 
more.  Eight  human  souls  were  battling  for  life  in 
the  roaring  surf. 

There  was  a  groan  from  the  men  and  a  shrill 
scream  from  the  women.  Ruth  stood  up  among 


328  OFF   LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

them ;  she  could  not  speak,  was  as  one  dead ;  she 
possessed  no  sense  of  feeling;  her  eyes  were  wide 
and  staring  at  the  boiling  surf.  On,  on,  came  that 
wall  of  water,  rolling  in  with  a  roar  like  thunder; 
on,  on,  nearer  advanced  the  mighty  wave — the 
"  death-wave,"  they  called  it  afterward.  It  came 
to  Ruth's  feet  and  laid  down  two  silent  figures,  the 
sleet  and  snow  frozen  upon  their  faces  and  gar 
ments  ;  two  figures  that  lay  rigid  and  still,  the  arm 
of  one  thrown  about  the  other's  neck,  and  the  eyes 
closed  in  the  white  faces.  Ruth  drew  near  to  them  ; 
the  fisherwomen  clustered  about  her,  the  men  closed 
in  upon  her.  She  waved  them  back. 

"  Don't  touch  them,"  she  said;  "  they  are  mine." 

She  leaned  over  them ;  down  upon  her  knees  she 

fell,  and  with  the  hem  of  her  cloak  wiped  the  frozen 

spray   from    their   faces.     "Jack,"  she   whispered, 

"Jack;  Arthur."     That  was  all  she  said. 

A  merciful  God  shut  out  those  white  faces  and 
the  wild,  stormy  night  from  her  vision.  The  out 
line  of  the  staggering  wreck,  the  blazing  fagots,  and 
the  thunder  of  the  frenzied  sea  faded  into  oblivion ; 
she  dropped  quietly  beside  the  silent  forms  upon 
the  sand.  When  she  came  to  herself  and  recognized 
the  kindly  faces  that  clustered  ministering  about 


THE    GREAT    STORM.  329 

her  bed,  the  night  had  passed,  the  gray  light  of 
the  somber  morning  was  stealing  furtively  through 
closed  shutters  about  her  room,  chasing  the  gloom 
before  it. 

The  storm  had  worn  itself  out;  the  wind  had 
lessened,  blowing  at  intervals  long  sobbing  breaths, 
as  if  in  grief  for  the  death  of  the  sailors  who  had 
found  a  resting-place  beneath  the  waters. 

Jane  and  Mrs.  Munn  stood  near  the  side  of  the 
bed  watching  her  anxiously.  Ruth  raised  herself 
in  bed  and  stared  at  them. 

"  Where  have  they  laid  them,"  she  whispered — 
"  my  dead  that  the  sea  gave  back  to  me?  " 

Jane  put  her  arms  about  her.  "  Ruth,"  she  said, 
"  God  has  not  taken  both ;  He  has  been  good  and 
merciful.  One  has  recovered,  and  is  in  granny's 
house  in  the  fishing-town ;  they  carried  him  there ; 
he  has  spoken,  but  is  very  weak ;  the  other  is  dead." 

"Which  one  is  living?"  said  Ruth,  hoarsely. 

"Your  husband,  Arthur,  is  living;  he  has  spoken 
once ;  it  was  only  one  word — it  was  '  Ruth.'  ' 

Ruth  threw  her  arms  wildly  above  her  head,  then 
lay  back  upon  her  pillow  white  and  still.  They 
arranged  her  pillow,  pulled  the  shutters  closer,  and 
without  a  word  stepped  softly  from  the  room.  A 


330  OFF    LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

peaceful  light  was  on  Jane's  face.  The  tears  were 
running  down  Mrs.  Munn's  cheeks ;  in  the  hall 
outside  she  threw  her  apron  over  her  head  and 
rocked  herself  to  and  fro. 

"Poor  Miss  Ruth!"  she  said;  "poor  Mr.  Jack! 
It  is  all  right  now,  though ;  he  is  at  peace  and  she 
has  found  her  right  place.  Oh,  it  is  a  mysterious 
Providence  who  orders  all  things  for  the  best,  if  we 
would  only  be  patient;  yet  it's  hard  to  be  patient, 
it's  hard." 

"Yes,"  said  Jane,  softly,  "  it's  hard." 

She  could  say  no  more ;  the  experience  through 
which  she  had  passed  during  the  last  hours  awed 
her,  making  her  bow  her  head  in  resignation  before 
the  wonderful  workings  of  that  great  Power  which 
holds  and  dispenses  the  affairs  of  man. 

Suddenly  Mrs.  Munn  plucked  her  sleeve.  Jane 
had  forgotten  her  surroundings;  the  rectory  hall 
faded  from  her  vision ;  she  saw  instead  the  wide 
garret  at  the  homestead,  a  passionate  face  looking 
into  hers,  a  passionate  voice  crying  out,  in  the  in 
tensity  of  its  sorrow,  "  I  will  not  give  him  up  for 
his  father's  sin  ;"  a-nd  now — here  Jane  brushed  away 
two  tears — the  storm  was  over,  Ruth  safe  in  the  har 
bor,  her  life's  sorrow  passed.  She  turned  to  Mrs. 


THE   GREAT   STORM.  331 

Munn,  who  stood  watching  her  earnestly,  wonder 
ing  at  the  tears  in  the  stern  eyes. 

"  What  is  it,  Sarah?  "  she  said. 

"  I  was  thinkin'  after  all  that  Miss  Kate  is  the 
only  sincere  mourner  poor  Mr.  Jack  will  have  in 
this  world." 

Over  Jane's  plain  face  shone  the  light  of  a  prophet 
ess.  "  The  sins  of  the  fathers,"  she  said,  solemnly, 
then  paused  and  grasped  Mrs.  Munn's  hand.  "  We 
will  mourn,  Sarah ;  poor  boy,  poor  boy ! " 

Jack  was  laid  to  rest  in  the  hillside  graveyard,  in  the 
old  Hathaway  plot,  where  the  four  cedars  stood,  one 
at  each  corner  of  the  narrow  space.  Many  mourned 
the  sad  fate  of  the  handsome,  gallant  Captain,  so 
well  loved  throughout  the  village  before  he  sailed 
away  for  foreign  ports.  He  looked  peaceful  as  he 
lay  in  the  majesty  of  his  last  sleep ;  his  hair,  prema 
turely  gray,  hid  the  cruel  scar  upon  his  forehead, 
where  the  life-boat  struck  him  when  the  wave  over 
turned  them.  In  one  hand  was  a  bunch  of  grasses 
and  daisies  gathered  from  Ruth's  small  hothouse  off 
the  rectory  parlor.  Jane  had  placed  them  there — 
Ruth  had  told  her  to ;  she  had  asked  no  questions, 
had  simply  done  as  Ruth  wished  her. 

Ruth  came  forth  from  the  great  shock  a  changed 


332  OFF   LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

woman ;  the  clouds  had  dispersed.  Through  a  great 
crisis  her  feet  had  found  the  true  way.  When 
Arthur  returned  to  her  she  placed  her  arms  about 
his  neck  and  laid  her  head  upon  his  breast. 

"  My  husband,"  she  murmured,  "Jack  has  given 
his  life  for  you  and  me." 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  then  told  her  all — told  her  in  the 
quiet  of  the  rectory  study,  with  the  storm  lulled 
without  and  within,  with  thankfulness  and  a  great 
peace  in  their  hearts. 

"When  we  reached  the  ship,"  he  said,  "there 
were  few  to  save,  many  of  the  crew  having  been 
washed  overboard  some  hours  before.  At  the  main 
top  were  three  men,  holding  on  with  partly  frozen 
hands,  huddling  close  together,  the  waves  almost 
reaching  them  when  the  vessel  careened.  The  brig 
was  fast  going  to  pieces ;  the  bulwarks  were  torn 
from  their  fastenings,  the  iron  bolts  were  twisted, 
and  masses  of  timber  were  swept  into  the  sea.  We 
approached  as  near  as  we  dared ;  the  men  dropped 
when  the  vessel  careened  almost  to  the  water's  edge  ; 
we  threw  ropes  to  them  and  dragged  them,  more 
dead  than  alive,  into  the  boat.  Captain  Hathaway 
thanked  me ;  he  spoke  solemnly,  as  though  he  had 
committed  himself  to  his  Maker  and  was  resigned." 


THE    GREAT    STORM.  333 

Arthur  paused  a  moment,  looking  sadly  into  the 
cheerful  fire  on  the  hearth.  "  I  told  him  who  I 
was ;  he  said,  '  Did  you  know  I  was  aboard  my 
ship?  '  '  I  thought  you  rnight  be,'  I  replied  ;  '  I  did 
not  know.'  The  Captain  did  not  speak  for  a 
moment,  then  said,  as  if  to  himself,  '  It  was  a  noble 
deed  to  risk  his  life  for  mine.'  He  spoke  no  further 
till  we  reached  the  breakers  just  beyond  the  outer 
bar,  then  said,  in  a  trembling  tone,  '  I  did  not  know 
there  were  such  men  in  the  world  as  you  have 
proved  yourself,  Mr.  Clayton ;  Ruth  must  be  a 
happy  woman.'  He  hesitated.  '  My  messenger 
from  Lynnport  gave  me  her  message,'  he  con 
cluded." 

Arthur's  voice  ceased.  Ruth  did  not  reply;  she 
saw  pictures  in  the  fire :  that  long-ago  summer,  the 
Michaelmas  daisies  and  golden-rod  blooming  on  the 
roadside  on  that  sad  fall  day  when  she  went  back 
to  the  manor  a  broken-hearted  girl. 

"When  the  boat  overturned,"  resumed  Arthur, 
"  the  Captain  could  have  saved  himself ;  he  thought 
only  of  me.  He  received  the  death-blow  upon  his 
head  by  dragging  me,  with  almost  superhuman  force, 
from  my  position  at  the  helm.  The  blow  stunned 
him,  but  he  rallied,  and  seizing  me  struggled  through 


334  OFF    LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

the  surf;  he  seemed  to  be  possessed  of  the  strength 
of  a  giant.  You  know  the  rest,  Ruth;  I  can  say 
no  more."  His  voice  trembled.  The  fire  shone  red 
through  a  mist  of  tears  in  his  eyes. 

They  sat  together  silently  for  a  while,  then  Ruth 
rose,  went  to  the  window,  drew  aside  the  curtains, 
and  looked  out. 

"  Come,  Arthur,"  she  said,  looking  back  into  the 
room.  He  rose,  crossed  the  room,  and  stood  beside 
her.  "See  how  beautiful  the  night  is!"  she  said; 
"  how  bright  the  stars  shine  ! " 

The  sriow  lay  upon  the  ground ;  the  night  was 
clear  and  brilliant.  From  the  headland  upon  which 
the  rectory  stood  there  was  a  wide  view  of  the  sea 
and  the  quiet,  sleeping  village  at  their  feet,  with  its 
lights  in  the  cottage  windows.  In  the  distance,  near 
the  shore,  a  clump  of  pines  stood,  dark  and  mysteri 
ous,  the  surroundings  of  the  empty  manor  with  its 
wandering  ghosts.  The  gleam  from  the  lighthouse 
lay  a  long  yellow  streak  upon  the  smooth  waters 
flowing  over  the  graves  of  the  brave  men  who  lost 
their  lives  for  humanity :  stanch  old  Pete  Morrell, 
his  three  boys,  and  the  crew  of  the  "  Bonny  Kate." 

"  The  storm  is  over,"  said  Ruth,  with  tears  in  her 
eyes,  "  and  Jack  in  God's  hands." 


•       THE    GREAT    STORM.  335 

"Yes,"  said  Arthur,  "the  storm  is  over;  yet 
graves  strew  the  shore-line." 

His  arm  was  about  her ;  together  they  stood  look 
ing  into  the  starlit  sky. 

"  Jack  understands  it  all  now,"  she  said,  wistfully. 

"  Yes,"  said  Arthur,  earnestly,  "  he  understands 
it  all.  I  believe  firmly,  Ruth,  the  tangled,  uncer 
tain  beginnings  here  will  be  perfected  there ;  in  that 
new  existence  will  be  found  the  completion  of  our 
feeble  efforts." 

They  let  the  curtain  down,  shutting  out  the  sea 
and  the  stars. 

"  He  gave  himself  for  me,  his  life  for  mine,"  he 
said — "  the  noblest  deed  of  man." 

He  stood  a  moment  looking  sadly  into  the  fire. 
There  was  a  shadow  on  his  face,  a  shadow  that  had 
come  to  stay  as  long  as  life  should  last:  the  con 
sciousness  that  another  had  gone  down  to  death  in 
his  place.  Ruth  divined  this  with  the  quickened 
perception  of  her  awakened  love.  She  did  not 
speak,  however;  what  could  she  say?  No  happi 
ness  is  unalloyed,  yet  now  they  could  bear  their 
crosses  together,  the  weight  lightened,  barriers 
leveled,  all  mystery  solved. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

PEACE. 

THE  story  of  the  great  storm  had  been  discussed, 
had  its  day,  and,  though  not  forgotten,  was  lulled 
by  time  into  but  occasional  reminders  of  that  night 
of  horror. 

Many  summers  have  the  grasses  grown  upon  the 
grave  in  the  Hathaway  plot,  bringing  peace,  through 
the  soothing  influence  of  years  and  reflection,  to  the 
loving,  grieving  sister,  who  in  her  deformity  and 
weakness  remains  under  the  sheltering  care  of  the 
lynx-eyed  Mrs.  Munn. 

Mrs.  Munn  is  as  sharp-tongued,  as  shrewd,  as  of 
yore.  Jim  Benton  asked  her  to  share  his  home, 
also  half  of  the  proceeds  of  his  fishing,  which  agree 
ment  she  refused  with  decision. 

"No,  no,  Jim,"  she  said;  "we  will  always  be 
good  friends,  I  hope,  but  nothing  more.  A  caged 
bird  ain't  as  good  as  a  free  one;  I've  been  caged, 

336 


PEACE.  337 

now  I'm  free — I  know  all  about  it.  I  wouldn't 
leave  Miss  Kate  for  a  king;  I've  got  a  nice  bit  of 
money  in  the  bank  for  my  old  days.  I  thank  you, 
but  I  say  no." 

Jim  went  away,  scratching  his  head  reflectively 
as  he  returned  to  his  bachelor  quarters.  His  mates 
found  him  taciturn  for  a  few  days,  but  this  unusual 
mood  passed  away,  leaving  him  the  same  good- 
natured  fellow,  spinning  his  yarns  as  he  baits  his 
hooks  or  throws  his  line  for  a  troll. 

It  was  a  charming  day  in  June;  fleecy  banks  of 
clouds  were  drifting  across  the  sky,  piling  up  in 
white,  spiritlike  shapes  in  the  west.  The  birds 
were  singing  triumphantly  as  they  flew  from  tree 
to  tree,  sweet-tuned  warblers,  the  crimson-throated 
finch,  the  oriole,  the  robin,  and  the  bluebird  joining 
in  a  hymn  of  praise  to  the  beauty  of  the  day. 

Dr.  Goodyear  was  standing  among  his  roses,  the 
shears  in  his  hands ;  Jane  was  looking  on  as  he 
clipped  his  beloved  blossoms.  Tetsy  No.  2  waited 
sedately  by  his  mistress's  side.  He  had  improved 
much  since  his  puppy  days  of  boisterous  hilarity. 
No  longer  does  he  demolish  the  clothes  drying  upon 
the  line,  or  chase  the  boys  wildly  through  the  village 
street,  startled  elderly  ladies  fleeing  before  him ; 


338  OFF    LYNNPORT   LIGHT. 

nor  does  he  return  to  his  scandalized  mistress  with 
his  mouth  full  of  feathers  plucked  from  the  neigh 
bors'  chickens.  He  has  become  a  well-behaved, 
dignified  member  of  the  dog  family ;  even  staid 
Tetsy  No.  I  would  not  have  blushed  for  his  usurper, 
or  have  felt  the  honor  of  the  family  in  peril.  He 
watched  his  mistress  with  an  adoring  glance  as  she 
stood  tall  and  straight  by  the  side  of  the  doctor, 
receiving  into  a  basket  each  exquisite  blossom  as  he 
clipped  it  from  the  vine.  Tetsy  cast  an  occasional 
glance  of  suspicion — sagacious  creature  that  he  was 
— upon  his  portly  master ;  he  had  never  succeeded  in 
convincing  himself  that  the  doctor's  demonstrative 
attempts  at  affection  were  genuine.  A  certain  dis 
trust  of  his  master  was  instilled  into  him  in  puppy 
days,  an  intuition  that  his  presence  was  only  tolerated. 
However,  being  somewhat  of  a  philosopher,  he  ac 
cepts  the  good  that  lies  before  him  in  the  love  of 
his  kindly  mistress,  arid  enjoys  a  very  happy  dog 
existence. 

"  It  does  not  seem  possible."  said  Jane,  as  she 
plucked  some  superfluous  leaves  from  a  rose-branch 
in  her  hand  and  scattered  them  on  the  ground,  "  that 
little  Jack  can  be  four  years  old  to-day.  Dear,  dear, 
how  the  years  do  fly !  I  think  these  will  look  very 


PEACE.  339 

well  on  the  table.  Ruth  told  me  she  had  invited  a 
dozen  children  for  the  birthday  party  ;  how  the  boy 
will  romp,  to  be  sure!" 

"  He's  a  fine  boy,"  said  the  doctor,  reaching  up 
so  high  for  a  brilliant  rose  above  his  head  that  his 
suspender  tore  partly  across  the  back.  "  Drat  those 
suspenders!"  he  said;  "what  did  you  want  that 
rose  for,  Jane?  You  knew  I  couldn't  reach  it." 

"  Ezekiel,  how  nonsensically  you  talk!  I  never 
wanted  that  rose.  Come  now,  we  have  plenty ; 
Ruth  will  be  waiting." 

A  little  later  the  old  couple  passed  slowly  through 
the  grass-grown  lane  of  the  upper  street  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  rectory,  the  basket  of  roses  held  between 
them.  Dignified  Tetsy  walked  behind,  scorning  the 
friendly  overtures  of  others  of  his  kind  with  a  true 
instinct  of  superiority. 

The  harbor  glistened  in  the  sunshine;  Jane 
thought,  as  they  paused  a  moment  upon  the 
heights  above  the  lower  street,  that  never  had 
Lynnport  looked  so  lovely.  True,  she  had  seen 
no  other  parts  of  the  world,  the  great  universe,  for 
her,  being  compassed  within  the  narrow  confines  of 
the  tiny  settlement. 

She  gazed  a  moment,  perhaps  a  trifle  wistfully, 


340  OFF    LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

out  to  sea,  to  the  distant  border  where  the  water 
seemed  to  meet  the  sky. 

"  I  have  often  thought,"  she  said,  looking  tenderly 
upon  the  bowed  figure  at  her  side,  "  that  I  should 
like  to  have  gone  beyond  that  line  on  the  horizon 
and  seen  something  of  life."  She  paused,  then  con 
tinued,  in  a  low  voice,  placing  her  hand  over  her 
husband's  on  the  handle  of  the  basket,  the  two  pair 
of  faded  eyes  looking  into  each  other's  with  a  tear 
ful,  satisfied  smile :  "  Perhaps  it  is  better  as  it  is ;  I 
don't  complain." 

"  I  guess,"  said  the  doctor,  "everything  comes  to 
Lynnport.  It  isn't  the  place,  Jane ;  it's  the  human 
nature  in  it  that  makes  life." 

The  fishing- fleet  had  rounded  the  "lighthouse  reef 
and  was  drifting  on  swiftly  before  the  tide,  the 
sails  glistening  in  the  sun.  Far  off,  like  a  shadow 
against  the  horizon,  rode  a  foreign  brig,  all  sails 
set,  floating  on  the  air  like  the  wings  of  a  wild  sea- 
bird. 

Jane  took  up  the  basket  of  roses  she  had  placed  on 
the  grass  an  instant,  and  they  walked  on. 

"  It  always  makes  me  sad  to  see  a  foreign  ship," 
she  said,  as  they  moved  along ;  "  poor  Jack  Hath 


away 


PEACE.  341 

A  narrow  lane  leading  from  the  upper  street  led 
toward  the  graveyard.  A  sudden  impulse  seized 
Jane  to  put  a  few  roses  on  Captain  Hathaway's 
grave. 

"You  know,"  she  said,  "little  Jack  is  his  name 
sake." 

On  nearing  the  gates  of  the  inclosure  they  noticed 
two  figures  coming  toward  them ;  they  were  the 
minister  and  his  wife.  As  they  approached  Jane 
detected  the  traces  of  tears  on  Ruth's  face. 

Ruth  had  not  changed  much;  the  girlish  sweet 
ness  of  youth  had  naturally  altered  somewhat  with 
the  passing  years — only  in  coloring  and  outline,  how 
ever,  not  in  expression.  She  looked  the  gentle,  lov 
ing  woman,  an  ideal  minister's  wife. 

Arthur  had  aged  more  than  she  ;  his  gray  hair  had 
turned  to  white,  and  he  was  slower  in  step.  Since 
the  wreck  of  the  "  Bonny  Kate  "  he  had  never  been 
quite  the  same. 

"  I  was  going  to  put  some  roses  on  Captain  Hath 
away's  grave,"  said  Jane.  "  I  told  Ezekiel  on  our 
boy's  birthday  I  thought  it  would  be  a  proper  thing 
to  do." 

"  Never  mind,  Aunt  Jarie,"  said  Ruth,  in  a  low 
voice ;  "  I  have  done  that,  on  his  grave  and  little 


342  OFF   LYNNPORT    LIGHT. 

Joe's.  Let  me  be  the  only  one ;  let  me  have  that 
privilege  to-day." 

So  the  four  walked  on  to  the  rectory,  through 
the  soft  sunshine  of  that  lovely  June  day. 

Little  Jack  was  in  the  rectory  garden  as  the  party 
approached,  surrounded  by  his  friends.  He  was  in 
sailor  dress,  and  his  sturdy  legs,  at  sight  of  his 
mother,  flew  out  in  a  wild  gallop  to  the  gate. 

"O  mother!"  he  said,  "see — see  what  Jim  has 
given  me!"  He  held  up  a  little  boat  neatly  and 
perfectly  fitted  with  masts  and  sails. 

Jim  was  leaning  upon  the  fence,  watching  the  boy's 
delight  with  a  good-natured  smile  upon  his  face. 

"He's  a  born  sailor,"  he  said;  "the  very  breath 
of  the  sea  is  in  him,  Mr.  Clayton ;  he'll  run  a  fast 
clipper  by  the  time  he's  twenty- one,  I  warrant 
you." 

Ruth  did  not  speak ;  she  entered  the  gate  and 
stood  upon  the  lower  step  of  the  porch,  watching 
her  boy  with  a  proud,  tender  glance  as  he  rejoined 
his  playmates.  Presently  he  came  up  to  her  again, 
his  handsome  face  aglow  with  health  and  freshness. 

"  O  mother!  "  he  said,  "  everybody  is  telling  what 
they  are  going  to  be  when  they  get  big;  I  haven't 
said  what  I'd  be  yet.  Shall  I  ?  " 


PEACE.  343 

"  Yes,  Jack,"  said  his  mother,  "tell  us  what  you 
will  be." 

Arthur  had  joined  his  wife ;  the  doctor  and  Jane 
stood  a  few  paces  from  them  on  the  graveled  walk ; 
Jim  leaned  earnestly  over  the  fence. 

"  I'll  be,"  said  the  boy,  throwing  back  his  head, 
"  a  sailor,  just  like  that  brave  man  father  tells  me 
about,  who  saved  him  in  that  storm  and  brought 
him  safe  home  to  mother." 

Ruth  clasped  her  boy  and  held  him  against  her 
heart. 

"  My  boy,"  she  said,  "my  own!  may  you,  with 
God's  help,  grow  to  be  like  that  good  man  who 
gave  your  mother  the  happiness  of  her  life!" 

Then  she  placed  Jack  upon  his  feet,  went  into  the 
house,  and  sat  down  at  the  study  window  to  watch 
the  happy  scene  in  the  rectory  garden,  where  the 
children  had  their  tea-table  spread  under  the  shade 
of  the  lilac-bushes. 


NOTE. 

SOME  years  before  the  writing  of  this  story  a  party 
of  pleasure-seekers  were  cruising  in  a  sailing-yacht 
at  the  head  of  the  Sound,  not  far  from  where  its 
waters  join  the  ocean.  One  of  the  number  noticed  a 
rambling,  dilapidated  mansion  situated  upon  a  rather 
bold  headland.  Drawing  the  rest  of  the  party's  at 
tention  to  it,  he  inquired  of  the  captain  if  he  knew 
its  history. 

"That,"  said  the  captain,  "is  the  Lorrimer  manor- 
house.  The  family  has  become  extinct ;  they  were 
a  great  family,  I  believe,  once,  and  owned  most  of 
the  village.  That's  the  village  back  there  a  little 
way  from  the  coast."  He  pointed,  as  he  spoke,  to 
a  tiny  town,  its  weather-beaten,  unpainted  houses 
huddled  on  the  steep  hillside. 

"What  is  its  name?"  asked  the  inquisitive  pas 
senger. 

"It's  name,"  said  the  captain,  "is  Lynnport; 
queer  old  place,  more  dead  than  alive." 

They  sailed  away,  watching  the  grim,  silent  man 
sion  till  it  faded  from  their  sight. 


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